


Staying Straight

by EzraTheBlue



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Firsts, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Romance, canon-typical child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 293,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/pseuds/EzraTheBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years out of jail and on parole, an ex-gang punk-turned-courier meets an eccentric young man thirty days out of a state asylum. They form an unusual bond, which may be the only thing that keeps both of them on the right path. STORY ENDS AT CHAPTER 37. EXTENDED EPILOGUE BEGINS AT CHAPTER 38!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jo

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 5/8 day, everyone! I'm celebrating in style! Just off the bat, this is a modern urban AU (inspired, of all things, by my daily commute to work through the city.) Names have been changed, but characters should be pretty quickly recognizable. With a few exceptions, the first letter of the new names will match. The ones who don't, I hopefully have made them obvious enough.
> 
> Second, this is going to be a multi-chapter story, but unlike my other stories, there will be no regular update schedule. It's ready when it's ready.
> 
> Third, I promise this story will be a lot less weird than anything else I've written.
> 
> Last, special thanks to RodiSquall for reading over the chapters before I post them! I touched it last, but she helped!
> 
> Disclaimer: The original characters are not mine, and I do not profit. This story is being cross-posted on FFN and AO3.

**1: Jo**

Jo opened his eyes to the roar of a guitar riff from somewhere under his futon and the drumming of rain against the window in tempo with his racing heart. He killed the alarm with a swipe of his finger, and glared out the window, dismayed, at the wet morning waiting for him. Chance Harbor wasn't normally this damp this early in spring, but he couldn't even tell the sun was up. The dull windows of the apartment high-rise across the road, and even the mirrored skyscrapers visible over it, reflected only drowsy blue-gray and the crumbling brick of his building's facade. Miserable, but it wasn't just the gloom of the morning souring his mood. He slid one hand down over his face, and got it.

"Back in the slammer again las' night. Always when it rains." He could brood about his nightmares, but it would be pointless. It didn't matter what happened last night. He still had to get up, put pants on, and face the day.

Jo didn't dream of jail every night. He didn't dream very much, though, and he only mostly remembered the ones about being locked up.

Maybe "jail" wasn't accurate in terms of his vernacular. Yana corrected him whenever he said he'd been in jail for four years, since he'd spent three of them in juvenile hall. It was still four years of his life he didn't spend on the street, which was nice compared to how it had been before his arrest. Before that, he'd been mostly by himself, or under Benny's wing when Benny needed a hand and never when Jo did. Benny was a bottle-blonde sonofabitch who thinned his eyebrows like some Shangri-La  _yakuza-_ he thought he looked cool, but Jo thought he looked like a cancer patient- and he tried to act like one too. Jo couldn't quite remember how he'd fallen in with Benny, only that he was there when he wandered into this particular Little Shangri-La and Jo had no particularly good reason to push him away. If Benny cared, there would be a roof over his head and a hot meal in front of him, and nobody trying to mug him for whatever he might have had. When Jo was on his own, he was sleeping in shelters when there was room and getting food in whatever way he could.

It wasn't like he was ashamed or anything. He had been doing what he had to do to keep himself alive. He picked pockets, swiped wallets, he'd put a knife to a few throats on nights when he couldn't count back to the last day he'd eaten and his stomach was starting to growl like the motor on a burnt-out Pinto. He got as good as he gave, since there were guys bigger than him, stronger than him, and hungrier than him. It was one of the reasons he got so good at fighting back, which was probably the only reason Benny wanted him around at all. That, in turn, was how he got arrested.

"Just a quick hotel job," Benny'd said. "The security's shit, we'll be in and out in two minutes," Benny'd said. "If shit goes down, I want you around to be my security, but it won't come to that, you just gotta stand around," Benny'd said. Jo had no idea how his fifteen-year-old self couldn't figure out just how full of shit Benny was. He and some of Benny's other cronies had been keeping watch on the pier outside of the Waterfront Temple Suites while Benny and a few others went in to bust the safe. Jo had figured it out later, but Benny was the kind of guy who had big ideas and not nearly enough brain power to think them through, so while he'd figured on only having to deal with one overnight receptionist to get to the safe, and he'd figured he wouldn't be able to move the safe, he hadn't exactly calculated how to open the safe. Jo heard the explosion. Hell,  _Philadelphia_  probably heard the explosion. Whatever Benny had used wasn't the right stuff, or it wasn't enough; it was just enough to kill everyone in a ten foot radius (which didn't include Benny, since Benny was stupid, but he wasn't _that_  stupid) but the safe was still there, as thick and sturdy as the day it'd been bought, as were the fire detectors in the next room. Ten thousand alarms went off, and the cops descended from around the block onto Jo and the five other dudes who'd been keeping watch. Jo managed to hold off the cops while trying to figure out how to get into the crumbling lobby; he could still hear Benny screaming from under the rubble, and Benny might have been an idiot and not especially reliable, but he'd fed Jo more than enough times to deserve a drag out of the mess he'd made. He wasn't going to run away, it never even crossed his mind. He just had to get the cops out of his hair. He was- still was- whipcord strong and bullwhip quick, so dodging taser wires and punching the lights out on a few donut-eaters wasn't a problem for him. The problem was the next three cars full, then the vans of men in black armor.

Jo had heard of the Crows before his arrest. He wasn't deaf, and Benny never tried to be quiet about it. He knew that every other guy who'd been with him that night had a crow's wing tattooed on their arm, chest, or shoulder, Benny on his left temple in line with where his eyebrows would be if the ugly fucker didn't shave them off. So when the cop interrogator asked how long he'd been a member of the Crows, Jo had laughed.

"You see wings anywhere on me? Fuck, I'm not in his gang." Benny had asked Jo to join formally, of course, but Jo couldn't stand the thought of being tied down like that. He didn't know the next time he'd want to change cities, and he didn't want to have to worry about any "blood in, blood out" contracts. The interrogator didn't believe him, and he remembered sitting in that tiny room for a very long time by himself. When he'd been little, before  _it_  had happened, Jack would sometimes tell him to "go sit and think about what you did" in a corner, because of course it was Jack's job to punish him when Mom was too drunk to beat him. He was pretty sure that was what they were doing now, letting him think about what he did because he was  _such_  a naughty little bastard, but he'd heard some of their conversation under the door or through their obvious one-way mirror as clear as if they were talking over his head.

"I'm not finding any records on him. You think he's lying about his age?"

"Throw a wider net; you heard him, he doesn't remember what state he came from. He doesn't look more than fifteen, anyway."

He'd been right on the line, so he figured. The interrogator came back in and told him that "Benny flipped on you." He also brought in a lady from Child Services and a public defender in a cheap suit. Once they decided he was too young to represent himself, they started to treat him like he couldn't tie his own shoes, and the conversation was between the three  _adults_. Sure, Jo had been taking care of himself for six years, but the second the cops got involved, he was nothing but a helpless infant. Jo could only sit there and nod with the Child Services rep digging way-too-long acrylics into his shoulder and whispering, "You don't have to answer that, sweetie" down to him whenever the interrogator tried to ask him something or say anything to him. They agreed that if Jo would write a deposition on Benny- rather than going to court and testifying directly against him- and give a full confession, he'd be able to go to juvy instead of adult jail for most of his sentence.

And hell, it wasn't like he could get out of it. He still remembered the look the judge gave him a few weeks later at sentencing, the way-too-bright, windowless room that smelled of cheap cologne and angry sweat, and the heavy cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

"Joel Sha, for theft, loitering, assault, and engaging in organized criminal activity, I sentence you to a total of five years of imprisonment." The judge sneered down at him around his too-wide, pockmarked nose, and in some of the stupid old crime movies he and Jack would watch, the judges would follow the sentencing with something like "May God have mercy on your soul." This judge didn't have to, maybe didn't want to say a line like that, or maybe it was against regulation, but Jo could feel that condemnation from just his face. God didn't have mercy on guys like him, that was what they were always trying to say, but people like that were never straightforward with it. They gave you their side and let you fill in yours. It pissed Jo off. It made him not really want mercy at all.

Juvy was actually kind of okay. It was better than being on the street- roof over his head, food on sanitized white plastic tables in a sanitized gray dining hall, and every night, there were nine different desserts he could choose from. Jo had never figured there were nine desserts to be had, maybe never thought about it, but there were little squares of carrot cake, German chocolate cake, and vanilla cake, cups of vanilla, chocolate, or rice pudding, plus chocolate eclairs, little fruit tarts, and chocolate chip cookies. It was the same nine every night, but if Jo was ever in the mood for sweets, he had his pick. It wasn't all roses and sunshine- it was still prison. He couldn't leave, he had a laundry list of things he could and couldn't do, and that buzzer that marked when to go and wherever they wanted him to go rubbed him raw. It was just nicer than the way he'd lived since he was eight and on his own. It was almost like those boarding schools in the movies, just with bars on the windows, barbed wire on the fences, and there weren't actually classes scheduled. Jo still decided to get his GED, because it wasn't like he had anything better to do. He wasn't much for reading, but he was okay with numbers, and he signed up for classes that could get him up to speed. It was something to do, and it might be good to have after he got out. Plus, his public defender and the Child Services lady had both said that evidence of good behavior could get him out faster, and getting a GED sounded like something a "good" kid would do in juvy.

It seemed there were only "good" kids in there with them, according to the adults he heard muttering about them. He didn't make friends, not solid ones anyway, because he just didn't get along with dudes all that well. He smiled enough to have guys to talk to in the yard, guys who taught him poker with smuggled-in decks, guys who stopped wanting to play poker with him after getting their asses handed to them by Jo's uncanny luck, and even a few guys who would help him study for tests. He didn't remember their names when they stopped talking to him, or when they got released. Most of the guys got released pretty quickly, and the ones who didn't just went away. Jo thought about the ones who went away sometimes- not the ones who aged out, but the ones who freaked out, who attacked another kid or an officer. One time, a guy tried to cut his own throat with a plastic knife at dinner and splattered his blood onto the sanitized white table and onto the sanitized charcoal linoleum, but only made a mess of himself and not in the way he wanted. Jo hadn't been there, he'd only heard, but he smelled the sanitizing solution a lot stronger for the next few days and the yard poker games were a little smaller until the next bus arrived. Whenever someone went away, no matter what the reason, Jo could hear someone or other saying, "He was a good kid."

He wondered if they said that about him when he turned eighteen and they moved him to the Our Lady of Perpetual Peace Bayside Correctional Facility. He didn't want to be a good kid, or even a good adult. He just wanted to go back to being him.

Jail was a lot like juvy, really, just bigger, and with bigger guys and more of them. He still had a bed to sleep in and three squares a day, plus those same nine desserts, every single night. Maybe if you were there a couple more years, a guy could get sick of them, and the monthly meal rotation to boot, but Jo didn't care for sweets and as long as it was cooked through, he'd eat whatever was splashed onto his tray with a grateful smile. They didn't make him cut his hair, which Jo had expected from the TV shows he'd seen, but he was grateful, since he'd been growing it since before he was arrested and he liked how it looked long. (Maybe he was vain, but it sort of had this burgundy sheen to it that looked like red wine in the sunlight. He liked that.) He didn't have a cellmate, since he'd been jailed for gang activity, but he wasn't put in solitary confinement either. He knew there were other guys from gangs around- he knew there were other Crows around, but the known Crows were kept in solitary, and the Crows who weren't known as members either didn't recognize him or did and kept their mouths shut because solitary is the closest thing to a literal hell Jo could think of. But there weren't just Crows. Operating out of Little Shangri-La alone- Jo's preferred stamping ground, and his only stamping ground in this city- Jo knew of the Centipedes, the Bulls, the Sharks, and the Holy Men, and he was sure all four had at least some representation. However, they were the same as the Crows: if they knew he'd been involved with Benny, they didn't say anything because then it would come out that they were involved with Benny at some angle.

Jo remembered writing his deposition- or rather, "dictating" it (the Child Services lady's words, not his) because writing and typing weren't really his strong suits- and surprised himself with how much he knew about how the gangs operated just from listening to Benny jabber. "We don't do turf wars, it's kind of split on certain blocks, except field trips. If we meet outside of our ward, we either stay out of each other's way or team up." The Crows would willingly work with the Bulls or the Sharks- the Bulls would work with anyone, though the Sharks were a little more picky. The Sharks and Cents didn't work together, and the Crows would only work with the Cents if the job was really worth it, since Benny hated how the Cents worked. ("I hear their initiation is done on ladies- only on ladies. Those sick fucks, they fucking  _require_  a boy to take a lady and- Jesus, Jo, don't fuck with the Cents. They do sick shit like that for fun. I don't know what they do to little boys.") The Holy Men were a different story- they didn't do team-ups, and they were the only one of the five who would go out of their way to attack other gangs. They were smaller and worked quietly, almost under the radar, but if they thought someone was getting too close to finding out what they were actually doing, that someone would vanish, and while Benny wasn't afraid to kill people, he never went out of his way to do it. The Holy Men didn't do turf wars, per se, but if they were planning something in a certain area and one of the other gangs started some activity there, there would be a brawl, and the Holy Men were tough customers in a rumble. Benny was smart enough to stick to his streets, and if he even heard a whisper that the Holy Men were working on a block, he'd tell all of his guys to steer clear. Even that couldn't keep them at bay for good. Every once in a while, the Holy Men would come onto another gang's turf and stomp on them for fun, like an earthquake rolling through. It was enough to keep fresh blood constantly rolling into the other gangs, because once the Holy Men were done with you, you had plenty of old blood getting swept out, often into the bay in a cloud of gray ashes. Benny had given Jo the same warning: "Don't fuck with the Holy Men. Hell, don't fuck with anybody if you don't have to. I hear the Holy Men keep operatives in other gangs just to keep tabs on 'em."

So he didn't. If he recognized a Bull, or a Centipede, or a Shark, he didn't say a word. He never recognized a Holy Man, but if he did, he wouldn't say anything. There were a couple reasons for this. Just because he recognized one didn't mean he recognized all of them, and if he turned one in, it was as likely as a sunrise that he would be recognized right back and his brothers would pay retribution. It was because of this that he worried that he would be put in solitary confinement for his own safety; punished for doing the right thing. There was also that he just didn't care; they were already locked up, if the cops weren't smart enough to figure out who they were dealing with, then they deserved to let them slip through the cracks.

But really, Jo almost liked being in jail. He got an hour in the yard every day to play poker with whatever group had gotten together, he had enough room to work out in his eight-by-six cell, and there were some good comic books in the jail library. The Child Services rep was gone now, but his public defender would come around on visitation day every few months, wearing that same cheap suit, and promise him, "You're doing just fine, no involvement with any trouble, no incidents, you got your education, you'll be out after a year." He suggested Jo take some college courses through the correspondence in the library, but Jo didn't care enough. If he was going to do college, he would do it outside. Outside felt awful close, especially out in the jail yard. The whitewashed brick walls were so high he could scarcely see the barbed wire, and the sky looked different every day. It helped Jo keep tabs on the time passed.

Most of the guys kept time by visitation days- "My boo came three days ago, so she'll be here again in eleven. Wonder if they'll let us have a little, hehe,  _conjugal_." Jo didn't. Nobody came to see him. If Benny had copped a plea and got back out on the streets, he sure as hell wasn't looking back for Jo, and if Jack was alive and in the same city, the same state, shit, on this side of the goddamned country, Jo had no idea how to get in touch with him and tell him he was there and to come visit, or if Jack would even want to visit. Probably not, Jo figured. There was a reason Jack had never come back for him, one that he'd never had a chance to ask about and probably never would. Instead, Jo watched the sun in the sky through his ten-inch square window or from the broad expanse of the dirt-packed prison yard and counted the days from bad weather.

"It rained nine days ago. The ground's pretty dusty now. I wonder if it'll rain again soon."

It was a rainy day Jo remembered best, or maybe worst. That was the day he decided he didn't want to go back to jail. That was the day he had nightmares about, even three years into his parole. He got his release a year early, as promised, but after  _that_  day, Jo had stopped counting.

It made Jo grateful he couldn't remember his dreams so well, especially not after a few hours awake, not after three years of freedom. Remembering things kind of sucked, but while it was easy not to remember, it was hard to forget. Maybe that was why he still had nightmares about that face that had stared up at him from the mud, that soft, faint, laughing voice:

_"You're... covered in blood too..."_

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Jo lit a Lucky Strike and stuffed his hands in his pocket and squeezed, trying to make himself not remember again. It was the rain doing it, he was sure; raining today, rained yesterday, probably would tomorrow. It's not like getting wet bothered him much. Jo didn't own an umbrella or bother with more than zipping his jacket up. Maybe it was that stupid vanity kicking in again, but he thought his hair looked sexy wet, like lava running down his shoulders, but it was the suede of his jacket that kept his skinny chest warm in the damp, chill wind. He kept his head low to try and keep the cherry bright under the shade of his forehead, but with the drops thicker than spills from shotglasses, it didn't go so well, and he ducked under an overhang to finish his smoke. Luckies were a little pricier than most, but since Jo didn't spend much on food, he could spare to splurge on his preferred brand. Still didn't mean he wanted to lose one to the rain. He heard someone walking past sniff at him as he took a drag, and rolled his eyes-  _"Yeah, yeah, fuckin' anti-smoker laws, probably shouldn't be in the fucking door way- motherfucker,_ _you_ _stand thirty feet from a fuckin' door in this fuckin' weather!"_ \- but finished his cigarette just as his phone rang again. He yanked it from his pocket and swiped the screen. "What's up, Ken?"

"Hi, Jojo!" A chipper, strident, girly voice spoke over the grumbling tenor Jo had been expecting. "Jojo, are you still being a slowpoke layabout, or is my big brother teaching you right?"

"Shut up, Lily!" Ken grunted, and Jo suppressed a snicker. He hated being called 'Jojo,' but he loved the thought of idiotic little Lily spilling Ken's innermost thoughts onto any open line. "Jo, where the hell are you? I need you to take on an office thing, and I need it twenty minutes ago."

"I had to walk, asshole, you seen this goddamned rain?" Jo spat his butt into a puddle. "The buses ain't running 'cause of the flood watch, because why the fuck would the buses wanna run when people don't wanna walk places, and my bike's right the hell out with traffic this bad because the second a drop hits the ground around here, fuckers slow down to five miles an hour and start steering with their ballsacks, so what goddamn choice do I have?"

"Whatever." Ken groaned just off the receiver. "You're gonna need a bike, but I'll loan you the spare. Just get here as quick as you can, or I'll find someone who will." He abruptly hung up, and Jo snickered aloud this time. Just for that, he would have one more cigarette before dragging himself in. Ken might have threatened to fire him on a weekly basis, but he was a pretty good boss. Yana, his parole officer, had gotten him a courier job at West Side Deliveries straight out of jail, and had promised him that Ken was good to his employees and despite being a bit rough on the outside, very tolerant. "Loyal," was what she had called it, but Jo didn't quite see it. The job paid enough to make his rent, pay his bills and get cheap cable, he siphoned off the neighbor's internet for his work computer, and it kept him busy enough, though he still had nights off to go to the pool hall on Eastern Avenue for a few dozen rounds of poker to waste whatever he had left over with whoever would let him. He didn't have to worry about anything. Life was okay, the same kind of okay jail had been.

"It's easy," Jo grumbled to himself, and finished his second cigarette. Even the nicotine rush didn't block out that mud-and-blood stained memory. "It's so easy I could puke." He threw the butt away and splashed on through the rain, through the motions, onto the nuts and bolts that made everyday life what it was. It wasn't like he could just get out of it.

* * *

Ken usually made Jo do pick-ups, since he didn't have his own car. If he needed to do a delivery, he could drive the company car, but Jo knew his way around the city on foot down cold. He could stagger in hung over or even still drunk from the night before, and still know the quickest way from one end of the ward to the other to go and fetch whatever it was that needed delivery. Ken sometimes wondered if those wild hairs that stuck up from his bangs were antennae that told him where the accidents were and which cross streets would get the "walk" signal first. Jo usually told him to fuck himself whenever he tugged at them- "You think I'm some douchebag, wanna wear hair gel all the fucking time?" Ken would snicker at him. Ken could actually be kind of cool like that, but with unkempt hair like his, he probably didn't want to take back what he was dishing out. Luckily, Ken was only interested in dishing out orders today.

"The front desk computer's gone to shit again. I need you to take it to Extreme Dataflow and get Zack to do whatever and make it work, and I need it today. Sit on him if you have to."

It was little things like this that made Jo question just how good of a boss Ken was. Kenneth Maoh had inherited the business from his mother at age nineteen, and he'd done a pretty good job of keeping them in the black, but Ken was either naïve or stupid and Jo wasn't sure which. Naive was reasonable- maybe Ken didn't know what kind of asshole Zack was. Jo had known Zack from his "associate" days with the Crows, and giving him your computer was basically like saying "Please, Zack, take my name, address, social security number, and credit card information off my hard drive. I wasn't using that money or credit score." Maybe Ken just didn't know that Zack was just as rotten as Jo, but hadn't been caught yet. Stupid was a worse option- Ken knew, but like he trusted Jo after a few years of employment, he'd been dealing with Zack long enough that he trusted him or maybe even owed him one stupid favor that he paid back with monthly invoices. Maybe that was why Ken always sent him to deal with Zack- maybe Ken did know about Zack, and since he definitely knew what Jo was, he could trust Jo to keep him safe from whatever scheme Zack was running this week.

Extreme Dataflow- Jo had no idea what was so Extreme about it, except that it was maybe opened in the Nineties when everything had to be "extreme"- was a nondescript, concrete-block building on the North side of little Shangri-La. It only really stood out because it was painted white next to the dull, umber brick of the adjoining rowhouses, and the side wall was covered in stark black and green text, handpainted on in chipping acrylic: "We fix all computers and laptops! Macs – Windows – Linux – iPads – Tablets – Video Game Systems" along with a little illustration of an old Commodore 64 with a face and a thermometer sticking out of its mouth. There was a flickering neon "Open" sign hanging in the window facing the larger of the streets at its corner, and Jo put the company bike into park and chained it to one of the bars on the outside window. He hauled the clunky old computer and monitor, shielded from the rain in two layers of garbage bags, out of his rear bike basket and backed into the door, whirling around to shake the water off as he did so.

"Yo! Zack!" He shook his hair off, wrung it out, and grinned at the idiot on the other side of the desk. Zack shook mussed, oily dull-blonde hair back and shoved his cellphone into his desk to greet Jo with a clapped high-five.

"Jojo, I thought you couldn't swim!" He laughed sharply, and Jo chuckled and wrung his hair out onto the floor behind him. Thunder struck outside, and the wind pounded the rain harder against the glass to emphasize its strength. The building settled from the second floor, and Jo could swear he heard a creak from the stairwell behind the dividing wall. "The fuck are you doing out in weather like this?"

"The boss' computer's gone belly up, and he needs somethin' done about it. No fancy shit, either." Jo folded his arms sternly, and Zack shook his head and let out a weaselly, nervous laugh.

"Come on, Jo, I learned some new tricks! S'called the Illusion." He wiggled his fingers like a magician entertaining toddlers. "Just plant a few lines of code in the security coding on your favorite browsers, and a fraction of any online purchase made vanishes- like magic!- Kenny won't even-"

"No." Jo put steel in his voice and fixed Zack with a stern look. "He said the monitor and computer tower ain't on speaking terms, and he just wants you t'make 'em friends again. Can ya do that?"

"Ah, jeez." Zack slicked his hair back, but the fringe fell back over his eye. There was a rustle from the open door into the darkened room behind him. Jo could spot a few computer towers and laptops with their guts out on the desk. Zack plugged the monitor in and depressed the power button, and set his elbow on the desk to watch the screen flicker to life. "I mean, I can fuck with it a little, but I'm definitely more of a software guy and that sounds like a hardware issue, and since Dougie got arrested-"

"Shiiiiit." Jo dug his hand up into his hair. Zack nodded sympathetically, and pulled a wire up from another tower and plugged it in. "That ass got caught?"

"Nowhere near here, thank god. Apparently he got caught doin' somethin' or other off the clock." Zack squinted at the monitor. "I mean, this side looks like it's working." He shook his head. "Probably somethin' on the inside, but without Doug..." He smirked up at Jo. "Well, lucky me, I got a new guy." He glanced over his shoulder, and Jo followed his gaze to spot a shadow dodging out of the open door. "He ain't like us, y'know, but he's plenty good at what he does. Think you wanna give him a shot? He's almost as brilliant as I am." Zack grinned a cocky grin, and Jo chuckled.

"Sure, but whoever he is, he better be ready for me to lean on him. Ken wants this today. No excuses." He set his hands on his hips. "I'll zip around town getting parts if you need it, just to keep him off my ass." Zack smirked, and leaned into the door behind him.

"You gonna keep bein' shy, or are you gonna be polite and say hello to my old buddy here?" Jo was reminded of a cat dragged on a lead towards a dog as Zack coaxed the poor nerd out from the work room. Jo braced himself not to snicker at pizza-face pimples or a dorky, grease-stained Doctor Who tee-shirt- he wasn't mean, but how bad did this guy have to be to hide like that?

Jo hadn't expected green. Zack dragged out a slight, lean man who was paler than expected, with bright- like, weirdly bright- green eyes. The brightness of those eyes stood out against his dark brown hair, which stood in contrast again to pale skin. His black-rimmed glasses were askew on his nose, and the right lens was cracked under the shag of his bangs. He was clean-shaved, clean-faced, and almost pretty, for a dude. Jo had expected a fat nerd, not an out-of-place banker or overgrown school boy. He looked bewildered, but not too put off, and managed to push his jaw shut as he landed in front of the desk. He gently shook Zack's hand off and smoothed the buttons on his shirt, then his sleeve. "My apologies for not joining the conversation sooner." He met Jo's eyes and bowed his head. "I did not wish to interrupt what seemed to be a pleasant reunion between old friends."

"You got that right," Zack snickered, and nudged the man forward. "Me an' Jo, we go way back. West Side's one of our most loyal customers. Jo, this's Harley. Harley, Jo."

Harley extended a hand, and Jo took it and shook it. His smooth lips slipped up into an easy smile, but one Jo wasn't sure was completely real. "My pleasure, certainly." His voice was even, it canted and dipped with sweetness and honey, and while Jo didn't care much for sweets, there was definitely a bitter to this sweet. Jo grinned easily back, and clapped his other hand around their shake.

"Pleasure's mine. So, uh, you Zack's new hardware dude?"

"Oh, I do a bit of everything." Harley glanced to the window. "Erm, would you mind coming up to my work space? And could you carry that?" He gestured to the computer, and with another smile, it was difficult to say no.

The narrow stairs up to the office echoed Jo's footsteps as he thundered his way up, monitor in the crook of one arm and tower under the other, but Harley walked softly, as if he weren't even there. The upstairs room was neater than Jo remembered seeing it when Doug had worked there; no papers on the desk, and parts and pieces in tiny plastic storage drawers with neatly-written labels. There were no gutted computers like the downstairs work bench, though a mysterious high dome covered with a cloth was oddly conspicuous on the end of the desk. Jo didn't want to ask. There was at least the familiarity of the busted-up spinning chair that Jo got to sit in while Doug worked, usually seated on a vinyl stool with wheels on it and skittering around the floor between whatever creepy porn he'd been watching and the work he was supposed to be doing. He hoped he wouldn't have to worry about that with Harley, but the prim nerd seemed repressed enough (from what little he'd seen) that he could control whatever urges he had until he was off the clock. The blinds were all drawn, and though Jo had heard strains of music when he'd walked in, the noise silenced when Harley crossed the threshold and touched a button on a speaker set beside the door. "Were you listenin' to that?" Jo nodded to the radio. "I don't mind." He set the monitor and tower down, and Harley hesitated, before reaching out and turning the music back on. It was nothing Jo recognized, and maybe even a little out of the ordinary.

_"Where you been hidin' lately? Where you been hidin' from the noose?"_

"What station is this?" Jo grinned over his shoulder at Harley, who'd busied himself with unscrewing the side wall of the tower.

"It's an internet station. Indie, soft rock."

"No wonder I've never heard of it. I'm more of a Guns 'n' Roses kinda guy myself." Jo held up the "rock" symbol with his index and pinky finger extended. He expected a smile, a chuckle, a nod, anything, but Harley was more interested in the insides of the computer tower. "Y'know, Kix? Metallica maybe? I've actually kinda got a thing for the Charm City Devils right now." Harley didn't seem to react, and the music played on.

_"Red tongues and hands..."_

"But, uh, whatever floats your boat." Jo settled himself into the spinning chair and gave it a few test sways- it didn't bob under his weight, so it had been fixed somewhere between now and the last time he'd paid a visit. Harley glanced over his shoulder, an apologetic slant to his eyes.

"I would have left it off, but I prefer the music to the noise." Jo frowned, but in the quiet that Harley let sit, he could hear the rain drumming on the roof. He stared up at it, until the rustle of paper in front of him got his attention. Harley offered a few forms and a yellow and pink pen with a "Bail Bonds" logo. "Would you fill these out? I know the previous gentleman often neglected these, but..." He trailed off indicatively, unable to fill the void.

"Oh, oh yeah." He shuffled the papers to straighten them and filled them out- basic information, like his name and company and what brought him to the shop- and Harley retreated to his desk and started sliding out boards and cases one by one. "So, uh, you another buddy of Zack's? How'd you get the job?"

"Ah, well, my parole officer-" Harley flinched, and Jo looked up.

" _You_  have a parole officer?" Jo rose both eyebrows, and Harley slowly turned around, his hands meeting in front of his stomach.

"If that offends you, then my sincerest apologies." The tips of his fingers battled one another like a spider clicking her spinnerets. "Would you like me to see if Zack can work on your computer instead?"

"What? Why the hell would I want that?"

"If you believe me untrustworthy."

"Dude, Zack may not have a rap sheet yet, but like hell if he's trustworthy." Jo grinned and sat back in the chair. "You're cool. I'm an ex-con too. Why?" He put his feet up onto the empty desk, kicking mud out of the grooves in his boots. "That turn you off? Lots of ladies hate it, but how about you?"

"Ah..." Harley trailed off again, mouth hung open before he remembered to lock his jaw. "I'm not disgusted by it, no. As long as... no, never mind." He quickly turned around again, and Jo laughed and sat back in the chair. It rocked back to catch him, and he leaned his head back until it bumped the wall.

"Jesus fucking Christ, guy, don't be so uptight." He crossed his legs, one over the other. "I don't bite. I only gotta sit here to make sure we're getting our worth on the rush charge, and like I told Zack, I can go anywhere in the city you need if we need parts. I'm just making conversation, but if you don't want to talk to me, just say so."

"Isn't that just masturbation?"

"What?" Jo sat forward all at once, feet landing on the floor, and Harley turned again.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Since Jesus is the Christ, isn't Jesus fucking Christ just masturbation?" Harley smiled again, another one of those not-quite-there gestures, but Jo laughed hard. Harley giggled along, a slim hand lifted to his lips, and Jo spun the chair around completely.

"Alright, smartass, that cans it. I'm gonna sit here and talk to you whether you like it or not." Jo splayed both legs around the chair. "So, tell me, Harley, what put a straight-laced smarty like you in the slammer?"

Harley smiled again, an almost-real one this time. "I'm afraid there's little to tell."

"Don't care. I'm interested now." Jo grinned, but even he couldn't totally suss out why he was so curious. Maybe it was those bright, way-too-bright green eyes. Jo had been a city kid his whole life, walled in with brick and concrete, asphalt and cement. Even jail had been nothing but shades of red and gray. He wasn't sure when anything green had come into his life before, and if nothing else, it was enough to get him out of his own head on a gloomy, gray day like this.

And Harley smiled completely. "I suppose nothing less will keep you satisfied." Jo grinned; he was right. He was sure he hadn't been so interested in anything in a very, very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: The music on Harley's radio is "The Wolves" by Ben Howard.
> 
> EDITED 6/26- Realized there was a spelling error. Fixed it. (Chapter 2 coming soon!)


	2. Harley and his Split Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo lets something slip, and sees the other side of Harley.

"Joel Sha?" Harley's lower lip didn't seem to want to close on its own, and hung just open as he read the finished information sheet. Jo had never seen a man gut a computer so quickly and easily, and now sat slackjawed deliberately in awe. He'd labeled each part and hooked them up to little black boxes Jo couldn't even name. The clean desk was now a mass of wires and blinking, flashing lights, and yet, there was a certain amount of order to the chaos. "I don't often hear Joel shortened- let me note your preferred name down."

"Well, Joel's kind of a dork name." Jo picked his jaw up and spun the chair back towards Harley again. "Not that there's anythin' wrong with dorks, I just-" He frowned when he saw what Harley had written. "Jo, Jay-Oh. No E."

"Oh?" Harley's lips thinned, but he scratched out the "E" in "Joe." "They're homophones, you know."

"Hama-what?"

"They sound the same." Harley tapped the paper. "Either Joe."

"Joe with an E is a redneck name. I ain't a damn country boy." Jo clicked his teeth together, a little gesture of disgust. "I mean, most folks don't know the difference, but I do, and that's kinda all that matters." He kicked back in the chair, rocking towards the wall again. Harley chuckled.

"Joseph is quite a common name, and Joel is much the same. There are Joes in every walk of life-"

"Yeah, well, they ain't me!" Jo folded his arms. "This Jo grew up listening to that stupid 'Cotton-Eye Joe' song at every grade school dance I got left at, and since I already went by Jo, every single asshole in my class asked me if I had cotton eyes. I mean, come on, how about you?" He flung a hand up towards Harley. "Name like Harley, didn't you get a shitload of, 'Where's your motorcycle, Harley? Can I get a ride?'"He held his fists out and rocked them forward to rev his engines, and Harley laughed, airy but humorless.

"I suppose such a thing would be so. But I didn't use the name Harley as a child."

"Oh." Jo settled in the chair. He'd heard of guys changing their names after prison, and figured it wouldn't be too nice to poke at it any further. Not with someone he just met. "So, uh, when did you get out?"

"I was released-" Harley paused to count, then tapped a few buttons keys on a portable keyboard hooked up to what looked like a hardened, flattened square of chunky green salsa. "Ah. I suppose it was thirty-seven days ago." He unplugged the keyboard and moved to the next apparatus, to a nod from Jo.

"Fresh out. You must still be in that honeymoon afterglow of the real goddamned world." Jo grinned, and gave his hair another wring. "So-"

"And how long have you been out?" Harley smiled over his shoulder, then moved his keyboard to the next little green board. His lithe fingers untwisted and twined the thin wires with ease; it was fun to watch. "You seem relaxed in the real, er, goddamned world."

"Heh, well, I relax wherever." Jo grinned, and kicked his feet up onto the desk again. "I've been out for three years. I mean, it's not like the day I got out anymore. I was just runnin' around aimlessly, looking for someone to fuck or fight or-" He heard Harley click his tongue, then giggle. "What, what'd you do your first day out?"

"After meeting with my parole officer, going to the pharmacy, and visiting a therapist, I volunteered at a shelter for the homeless."

"Ho-lee-shit." Jo laughed, a sonorous, rolling noise that echoed on the walls. "Model fuckin' prisoner, you."

"I'm not so sure what makes it holy." Harley scooted his chair to what looked like a hamster wheel under solid steel and attached his little keyboard to it. Jo rolled the conversation back, then laughed again.

"Yeah, me neither!" He laughed again, and Harley giggled too, then started to type on the keyboard again.

"Forgive my pitiful humor; I'm just of the opinion that swears and pejoratives are something of a waste of air, and meaningless. If one can't carry a conversation without them, then there surely aren't enough other words in his head."

Jo snorted and flicked one of his stray strands of hair back behind his ear. "Well, that's me in a nutshell. Real pretty head with nothin' inside of it." Harley paused, fingers hovered over the flat keyboard.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"What?" Jo smiled. "I know I ain't that bright."

"No, no, I'm certain you're wonderful; but-" Harley's eyes skimmed over him. "You can't have been more than a child when you were arrested if you're already three years out of jail. It was cruel of them to pull you out of school." Jo snorted, but tossed some of the loose hair beside his face back over his shoulder.

"I was fifteen, but I was out of school way before that. Look, I'm not looking for pity. Hell, I'm pretty impressed you're, uh, doin' what you're doin." Jo twirled a finger at the collection of angular parts that made up the inside of the computer tower. "What the hell are you doin', anyway?"

"Ah." Harley looked back over at the scattered mess of parts. "I'm individually testing the responses of each of your major components that could cause the sort of failure you described."

"What?"

"Take, for example, the graphics card." Harley held up one indiscernible hunk of motherboard. "If this fails, or if there's a bad connection, then even if everything else is operating, you will see nothing on the screen. Then again," he started to move to the next chunk of computer guts, but Jo held up a hand.

"It's magic! It's magic. I get it." Jo laughed uneasily. "I don't think I ever saw Dougie use one of those, though." He nodded to Harley's little keyboard.

"Oh, this?" Harley smiled, this one a sly, catlike, hell, Jo would hazard  _proud_  little grin. "This is a device of my own invention. A few spare parts, a bit of programming, and it's my own  _magic_  little tricorder."

"Tricorder?"

"Star Trek?"

"It's all geek to me." Jo grinned. "You pick that up behind bars?"

"Oh, I've always been something of a tinkerer. I enjoy taking things apart." Harley moved along with his work. "It's interesting, understanding how things work, and the best way to do so is to see inside." He giggled to himself, and tapped a few more keys. "Putting them back together is the hard part- Ah." His free hand grasped out without turning away from the part on the desk in front of him, and he reached into a drawer for a small, funnel-shaped glass, pushed his glasses up and put the glass over his right eye. In a blink, the little keyboard was pushed aside and Harley had the piece in his hand and up close to his face. "Oh, my, my, my."

"What's wrong?" Jo stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned forward. "You figure it out?"

"These terminals are all fried." He squinted into the little glass cone. "This piece- ah, er, this piece essentially transfers data from the tower to the monitor." He turned it slightly to get a different angle, and clicked his tongue with pity. "Oh, my my, even the redundancies. There must have been some sort of huge surge. Is this computer on a circuit breaker?" Jo shrugged, and Harley sighed into his palm. "Without these connections, there is no communication between the box and the screen. If they can't communicate, then they can't be friends at all, I'm afraid."

Jo basically understood the last part. "Well, shit. What do we do?"

"Nothing, just yet. I'll see if I have spare parts for this model, but for the moment, allow me to test the rest of these pieces." Harley set the glass down and away. "It's very likely that if one piece was shorted out in a surge, several others may have been affected too. While you may be assisting in your own rush charge by offering to go to my suppliers, I'd rather not send you away for one piece if I then find more that needs replacing. Not in this awful weather." He made a few quick notes on the tag attached to the piece, then moved to the next.

Jo watched for a minute as he started with the keyboard again. "Damn. You're a real sleuth, huh?" He grinned, and couldn't help but be impressed. Doug had been a good tech, but never quite so quick and efficient, and he lacked Harley's entertaining, prim quirks. Watching was almost kind of fun. "So, that little tube you were using-"

"A jeweler's glass. I've some rather severe nerve damage to my right eye. My distance vision is null, and even things up close can be, well, fuzzy. The glass helps me to focus."

"Righty's fucked, huh? I was gonna ask about the glasses, but-" Jo tapped under his right eye, and Harley mirrored it.

"My glasses?" He put the keyboard down and took them off, and squinted at the lens. Jo noticed only his left eye could focus, and a red mark under the right that he hadn't seen before. "Oh. Oh, it's- oh." He bit his lower lip, then put his glasses back on and his smile right back with it. "I can't see it at all with them on." He laughed to himself, though Jo could see nothing funny. "I'd worry more about getting them fixed if it would make a difference."

"Honestly, kinda threw me off." Jo smiled a little; it was contagious. "Makes you look kinda, y'know, weird."

Harley giggled, genuinely. "Perhaps eccentricity suits me. I am, after all, a computer geek." He took up his keyboard again, and Jo shook his head, then relaxed back into the seat back again.

"No shame in being a computer geek; it's cool, y'know? Where'd you learn all this, anyway? You said puttin' stuff back together was harder than takin' it apart, so-"

"Ah, I took a correspondence course through the library, through Sojourner University." He smiled. "It was something to do with my hands during free periods, I could read in my cell, and unlike some of my co-patients, I was lucid enough to enjoy intellectual pursuits. I'm trying to get back into college now-"

"Wait, did you say co-patients?" Jo's ears perked- he'd almost forgotten just how curious he was about Harley's crime. Harley seemed to have been counting on that, and turned to face Jo, slouched over.

"Erm. Yes. I suppose I was not in jail, per se." He lifted two fingers on each hand to make air-quotes, head slumped between slouching shoulders. "'Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity.'" He lifted both hands up in a shrug. "I spent three years in an asylum, deemed sane enough to return to the outside world, and here I am." Harley dropped his hands. "It's precisely as simple as that."

Jo was starting to see why Harley had changed his name to that- the way he could shift so quickly between happy and miserable reminded him of those old clown masks that were split right down the middle the same way. It made the guy impossible to read, but it didn't make Jo want to stop trying. Harley seemed to study Jo's half-open mouth, until Jo broke into a broad grin and changed the subject to try and give the poor guy a break. "Temporary insanity. Wish I'd thought'a that. They caught my ass red handed-"

"Wouldn't that be red-cheeked?" Harley giggled and turned back to his work, and Jo quickly was.

"You gonna give me shit every time I swear?"

"Well, that would be awfully messy, wouldn't it?"

"You're damn right it-" Jo considered it, and winced. "Goddammit!" Harley laughed, and it almost made up for him laughing at his own jokes. When he was genuinely laughing, it was a nice noise, light and pleasant, if a bit hollow. Jo sniffed to himself, as Harley caught his breath to continue.

"So, what were you caught red-handed at?"

"Robbery job." Jo started to rock in the chair. It creaked under him as he slowly swayed back to the wall, then released forward. "Buddy of mine asked me to watch the door while he went for the safe. Shit went sour, cops showed up. I could'a ran, but, well, that's just now how I work."

"You'd rather fight on the off chance that you'd win than turn your back."

"Hell, I ain't that stupid." Jo pushed the chair all the way into the back wall. "No, my buddies were still inside. I was hoping to get 'em out."

"Ah." Harley nodded, then pulled the wires off his miniature keyboard loose from the chunk of computer he'd been working at. "The reception terminals are ruined on this, too."

"Shit," Jo groaned, as Harley made a few notes on a nearby pad. "So, uh, what'd you-"

"I suppose you felt justified in staying to save your friends, but why were you conducting a robbery in the first place?"

"Uh." Boy, he changed subjects fast. One judgmental look over the emptied computer case, and Jo clicked his teeth together and answered, "Well, I owed the guy a favor. He helped me out when I was in a pinch here and there, so I kinda owed it to him. He said I'd just have to stand there and keep watch. He messed up, and it got messy. We'd done a lot of stuff like this before- I was the muscle, and he did the dirty work."

"The brains of the operation, I suppose?"

"Hah! If you could call Benny the brains. Guy was dumber than a box of retarded kittens."

"The whole box, you say?"

"Well, he wasn't totally useless." Jo shrugged, and sat forward in the chair. His ears were starting to burn from talking about Benny. "So, you know my whole story, when do I get a turn? Or is this a goddamned interview?"

"Hm." Harley set another hunk of computer chips aside and made a few more notes. "Have I made you talk too much? I'm sorry." Jo rolled his eyes, and Harley didn't notice. "I suppose it's nice to have someone else to talk to, rather than listen to the sound of my own voice all day." He lifted a finger, in a way that made Jo think of an elementary school teacher trying to draw attention. "I'm also rather interested in voices, and accents, and I can't place your origins from your speech patterns." He smiled; Jo could see it from the shift in his cheekbones even with his back turned. "I have to keep you talking so I can keep trying. It's frustrating, but amusing."

"Pfft. Amusing. Like I'm some fucking court jester." Jo spun in the chair once. "Alright, Emperor Prospero, your turn."

"Emperor Prospero?" Harley didn't miss a beat, and was now hooking some of the pieces of the computer back together.

"Masque of the Red Death. One of my favorites." Jo glanced to the window. It was still raining- a dark and stormy night, he thought with a small smirk, even though the display on his cellphone said "11:47 am." Harley glanced over his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow up.

"You've read Poe?"

"Who's Poe?"

"The author." Harley fixed Jo with a level, wary stare, the kind you'd give someone who just beamed down from a spaceship. "Of the short story."

"You mean that movie came from a book?"

"I suppose you learn something new every day." Harley giggled again. "But no, tell me about the movie. I rather liked the story, when I read it."

"There's no way some stupid book is better than this movie!"

"And what about it fascinates you so?" Harley continued his work, and Jo grinned.

"This is gonna blow your mind, man."

It was strange- someone who just wanted to listen to him talk. Who would've thought he'd get that from a wiry nerd with a set-in-stone smile?

All told, it took Harley half an hour to pull apart, examine, and partially reassemble the computer tower, and he kept Jo talking through most of it. He got Jo to talk about the movies he liked- and there were a lot- and even showed marginal interest in the Birds' score from the previous night and the awesome double-play in the eighth inning- "Just sucks they were already down by six, y'know?" Once he was finished with the computer, though, he was all business again.

"The connection ports on the graphics driver are beyond repair. I will need those replaced. I'll be able to solder some of these-" He gestured at a handful of chips on the table- "back into working order, but it may take some time."

"Hrm." Jo scratched his head. "Look, you know a lot more about it than me, so I have to take your word for it. You ain't rippin' me off, are ya?"

"I should be offended, but from what little I've heard about this Douglas Go, I don't blame you." Harley glanced down to the floor. "Not to mention what I've seen in Mr. Zack."

"Eh. Crows. What're ya gonna do?" Jo shrugged. Harley seemed to stiffen at the gang's name, but gave his head a shake and met Jo's eyes.

"You can trust me. I'm an honest man, especially when it comes to my work." He cocked his head and pressed his fingers to his lips, a soft giggle barely suppressed. "I'm honest in most things, perhaps too much so. For example, I could charge for the diagnostic process, though it's against policy, because I don't think anyone reads the whole bill; or I could pick out a few more parts that could use upgrades but don't require attention, and tell you they're ruined, and you'd be none the wiser, but for this computer to operate, I just need everything on this list." He held out a piece of paper with stark, neat handwriting, covered in words Jo couldn't even begin to decode.

"Huh." He looked it over, and grinned at Harley. "Wonder how many times Dougie pulled one over on me in just the ways you described." He whipped out his cellphone. "Ain't my money, but it's nice that you ain't stealin' it from me."

Harley watched Jo send a few texts with unusually quick fingers, then dialed a number from his contacts list and started reading off the manifest he'd given him. He looked away as he started to stumble over "reception port," and Jo noticed him lift the cover over the dome at the end of the desk just enough to expose thin wire bars and poured water in through the wires from his water bottle. Jo didn't seem to pay attention as he grumbled out a credit card number rote. He hung up, and Harley had finished with the dome in the corner and plugged in a handheld soldering iron. "They've got it all in stock. I'll be back."

"Just, one last thing before you go." Harley glanced up. "You know of Zack's affiliation?"

"Huh?" Jo paused. "Wait, like, with the gangs? It's not like he keeps it a secret." He shrugged, but couldn't help but notice Harley stiffen further, even as he went on. "He's not a Crow, not a full member, he just does side work for them."

"And how do you know all that?"

"Used to do some work for 'em myself." Jo set his shoulders back, as Harley seemed to turn to stone in front of him.

"I see." He straightened up slowly and faced Jo, and Jo watched any reality slip from his polite, retail-trained smile. "I think you'd best go." All the stiffness in his posture had joined with his voice, and Jo felt like a wall had come up.

"Yeah. 'M goin'. I'll be back soon." He turned and fled. He couldn't help but feel like Harley had wanted to jump him on the spot, and not in the sexy way (though both threw Jo off a little bit, coming from a dude.) The guy was hot and cold, like hell (depending on who you asked), but it only really made Jo more curious. What the hell even was this Harley guy?

It hit him- Harley knew his favorite movies, knew at least a little of his story, and seemed to bend to his personality as if he'd been inside of his head. What did he know about him?

Not a damn thing.

* * *

The rain had slowed when Jo got back to Extreme Dataflow, and wasn't surprised to find Zack with his feet up on the desk, watching a movie on a tablet that Jo was pretty sure didn't belong to him. "You fuckin' show-off, you're gonna get caught."

"Pfft, 'least I'm not fuckin' Doug." Zack glanced over his shoulder, then back to Jo. "I think Harl's upstairs, so I can totally spill the beans." He put the tablet down and pressed his elbows to the desk with a sly grin. "You wanna hear it?"

Jo groaned and looked over his shoulder as well, before rushing in close to the desk. "What'd that idiot do?"

"The dumb fuck got caught with his pants down in a movie theater." Zack snickered. "It wasn't even a porno, it was a fucking slasher flick!"

"Jesus." Jo wanted to laugh, but, well, holy shit. How long had he spent with the creep without picking up on that? "Uh, you think he's coming back?"

"It's been like a month." Zack tossed his hair back like he was a supermodel, and Jo didn't even see any women through the window. "I got Harl now. Doug ain't comin' back here."

"Yeah, lucky you." Jo chewed his lower lip, as Zack pulled a hand mirror from his shirt pocket and combed his hair. Jo didn't see the point- it was pretty heavily gelled. "So, uh, Harl-"

"Yeah, I wanted to ask, the hell, man?" Zack shoved the comb away with a flourish and grinned lewdly at Jo. "You walk in and it's like you're his best friend, but I gave his ass a job and he walks past me like I'm a doormat, and let me tell you this, Jojo, my ass is  _not_  a doormat." He cocked one hip. "Way too sexy for that."

"Oh, shut up." Jo strode past him. "Never mind. He prob'ly wouldn't'a told you if he didn't like you." He carried himself up the thin stairwell to a scoff from Zack, and knocked on the closed door to the second-floor office. "Yo, uh, Harley? I got the parts."

There was no answer, and Jo nudged the door with his toe. The radio was still playing softly from its shelf beside the door, and Harley was leaned over some of the motherboard with the soldering iron in his hands, as natural as a chunk of sidewalk chalk for a child, but with none of the joy. Both bright eyes were dim and focused on the task at hand. Jo cautiously stepped in, and fished into his jacket pocket for the brown paper bag. "Hey, man-"

"I heard you. You can give them to me and leave." Harley didn't flinch, didn't stop, and Jo slowly put the bag down, then nudged it towards him like it was a can of tuna for a scared but wild cat.

"There ya go." Jo took a step back. "Uh, look, I'm getting' the feelin' I offended you earlier, and I don't know what I-"

"I need to concentrate. Leave."

"Right." Jo took a few more steps back, watched the thin line of Harley's back and neck as he hunched over his work. Jo hesitated. The radio was audible this close to his ear:

_"Gracious, goes the ghost of you-"_

In a second, Harley was beside him, palm slamming onto the radio's on-off switch, close, too close to Jo. He wasn't much smaller than Jo, and he didn't look smaller with red in his cheeks and anger obvious in his brow.

"Leave. Go. Unless you insist on talking to me."

"I'm-" Jo swallowed- why did it hurt this much to be pushed out by someone he'd only just met? "Yeah. Sorry. Just- you have my number." He turned tail and scrambled back down the stairs, feeling like Harley had sucked the blood out of his skull.

Guy was definitely in full sad-clown mode, that was for sure, and he couldn't keep from being a little pissed off as he walked back past Zack spinning in his chair, who whistled softly as Jo passed. "Ooh, now you get angry Harley. I don't think I've met angry Harley," Zack drawled in a nigh smug, superior way, and Jo's lip curled. "Here I thought you had a new boyfriend!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Jo whipped a cigarette out of his pocket, giving absolutely no fucks about the anti-smoker laws with Zack's grin creeping down the side of his face. "What the fuck is with that guy?"

"He's, like, a BDSM dominatrix."

"Dude-" Jo's eyes went wide.

"Beats the fuck out of me!" Zack laughed hard, and Jo shuddered.

"That's not even cool, dude." He slicked his hair back a few times. "No, seriously."

"Seriously, I got nothing." Zack spun back and kicked his feet up onto the wall, arms folded behind his head and leaning his head over the back of the chair. "He was referred here by his parole officer, so I thought he'd be cool, y'know? Thought he'd be one of us, yeah?" Zack glanced up over his shoulder, and Jo was starting to think Zack might be just the slightest bit afraid of Harley. He didn't blame him. "Yeah, but, it was weird. He was cool for literally an hour, but then he sees me takin' orders from one of the Bulls, he recognized their tat-"

"Duh." Jo put his a fist in his jacket pocket and took a long drag off his cigarette. "Fucking horns, man? There ain't a single fuckin' Chicago fan in this city."

"Got that shit right," Zack sniggered into his hand, then waved it off. "No, but he sees it, and he asks why I take their business. I tell him we always do, we always have, and that's when he just turned off. He must just not like toughs, or maybe he's just picky." Zack turned around, and lowered his voice to a grumble. "I'd fire the antisocial creep in a second, but he works too hard for that. He's twice the tech Dougie ever was. Does my work too, and better than I do. I do all the fun stuff, and he does all the hard stuff. He's actually learned stuff from a school, he didn't just learn code teaching himself to hack. But... that creepy smile." Zack tugged at his own cheeks. "I mean, you first think, he looks so nice, but there ain't nothing nice about that face. That smile means he don't like you- and seriously, what's not to like about me?!" Zack sniffed. "But whatever. I'm too awesome for that two-faced bullshit." He cast a hairy eyeball at Jo. "He liked you, at least I thought he did. He doesn't smile the way he smiled at you. What the fuck did you do?"

"I have no fucking clue." Jo extinguished his cigarette onto Zack's mousepad and tossed the butt into the bin behind the desk. Zack swore and quickly stomped into the bin.

"Idiot, there's paper in here! You'll burn the place down!"

"Whatever. Look, drama queen, I'm gonna see if Ken needs me to do anything else, I'll be back 'round closin' time." Jo ignored the middle finger Zack flipped at him as he stepped outside and lit up a fresh cigarette. "My rush charge is still good even if your tech hates my guts." He kicked the kickstand on his bike loose and hopped on before Zack could come up with any comeback at all, though he was sure he heard the words 'fucking idiot' out of the corner of his hearing.

Yeah, maybe he was. He had clued in on Harley- from the first, he'd figured Harley hated criminals, right down to himself, but had gotten over Jo being one for whatever reason. But- and while this was a guess, Jo figured it was a pretty good guess- Harley hated the gangs even more. And that was fine, he was entitled to hate whoever he wanted. It was none of Jo's business.

He didn't know why he still cared that he'd been shut out like that. It's not like it hadn't happened before. He should have been used to it. Maybe he wasn't as used to it as he thought.

* * *

As it turned out, Ken had another job for him when he called to check in- hand delivery to the circuit court from a law firm, which were stressful but welcome, since lawyers never balked at the price and the loads were light, but you had to get there quick and get back quicker. Lawyers were a finicky sort, too used to books and not used enough to people, and Jo hated dealing with them since they talked fast and smart and usually down at him, but their money was green. It was like the rest of his job- just something he dealt with.

Except today, it wasn't just a comfortable mediocre. Jo's body was at his work, but his mind was still in the whitewashed office on the North side and trying to puzzle out what had happened that day. The more he thought about it, the more he went from confused to angry. What the hell had he actually done to the guy? Harley could hate the gangs all he wanted, but he'd never done anything to the guy personally. He knew he had hurt people, but not Harley. Harley had no right to treat him like that- he sure as hell wasn't going to stand in Zack's defense, because Zack was kind of a prick anyway- but him? Jo wasn't a doormat either, and he wasn't the dirt on his shoe. It was hard to keep from sneering at the legal secretary who accepted the envelope from him, and he smoked all the way back to the North side with a succession of cigarettes cycling past his lips and into his lungs.

Fuck it, he wasn't dealing with that shit. He wasn't going to let it bother him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to just let it sit. He was going to ask Harley straight up, get a straight answer, and move on with his goddamn life. He hauled back up across streets stained orange with the setting sun, past kids playing chicken with cars on Central Avenue or pickup basketball at the rec center, thinking only of what it'd feel like to lift that moody little nerd by his lapels and shake him until he picked a smile or a scowl and stuck with it.

Zack was turning off the light on the "Open" sign when Jo reached the door and grabbed the handle. Zack shrugged broadly. "I'm sorry, man, you'll have to come back tomorrow." Jo scowled at him, and he put his hands in front of him. "Harl said your computer was almost ready. He'll be done first thing in the morning."

"Fine. Whatever." Jo knew scowling this much would give him wrinkles, but he didn't care as he propped his bike up on the wall and lit a fresh cigarette. He didn't even care that Ken might chew his ass for not bringing the computer back, he was more interested in the geek working on it now. If the shop was closing up, Harley would be coming out, and Harley had no right to tell him to "leave" or "get out" of a goddamn public roadway. He had nothing better to do. He was going to wait.

So he did, gradually smoking cigarette after cigarette to the filter and tossing the butts into the street. He thumbed out a text to Ken updating him on the computer and signing out for the night, and ignored the chime of the reply. He instead listened to the hum of noise from inside, tapping on a calculator, then the soft rumble of Harley's voice, and Zack's response: "What? No way. You gotta go home, the boss says she ain't payin' overtime, there's no way she'll pay you for the overnight... No, I ain't gonna let you stay without gettin' paid! Jesus! Go home, you'll drive yourself nuts if you never stop working!"

Of course that was the kind of guy Harley was. Jo almost wanted to spit on the guy, except he'd been cool for a little while and really, he should have felt bad. But hey, the idiot would be out here any second... Zack emerged from the front door and locked it behind him, already yammering on the phone with what Jo guessed was a girl, wearing a big stupid grin.

"Hellllllo baby, Daddy's on his way! Why'n'ch you get your cute self an' all your cutie friends..." He passed Jo by without even a passing glance, and Jo blew a smoke ring in his wake. He distantly wondered how much Zack was paying whoever was on the other end of the line to put up with that kind of talk. Strange, though, that he locked the front door with Harley still inside. Didn't matter. He was going to come out sometime.

It was right about when Jo had that thought that he heard a loud crash from around the corner, and he didn't pay it any mind as first- probably just a stray cat knocking over a garbage can. When he heard another crash, he cursed animal control. When the noises became a little more steady, Jo pushed himself around the wall and leaned around the corner, and saw creeps in dark clothes all darting into the alleyway between the computer shop and the adjacent vacant house, and he could hear them as he approached:

"Get down here!" Jo felt that sting of fight-or-flight instinct, and he'd never been one to listen to the "flight" side of the argument. He put his smoke out and entered the alley, and saw what the crashing was- a crowd of men around his age, surrounding the back exit of the shop and the iron fire escape that hung loosely off the building. Some were shaking it, pounding it against the building, and Harley had pinned himself against the door, with that big covered dome hugged to his chest in one arm and the other hand flailing uselessly at the door handle- it wouldn't open, though, Jo had figured out the automatic deadbolt the hard way himself once. One of the thugs pushed past the others to start up the narrow stairway.

"Trapped like a fucking rat," he sneered as he closed in on Harley, and Harley, wide-eyed, kept pawing at the door. No good, and the thug seized Harley by his shirt and tossed him down the stairs. "Take your medicine!"

Harley cried out, still hugging the dome to him even as the guys surrounded and descended on him, and Jo wondered for a second why he was still standing there when he spotted a tattoo of a penny with legs on the back of one of their necks.

Cents.

And Jo was no longer standing there, he was diving into the fray. He was- still was- whipcord strong and bullwhip quick, months of hauling crates and riding his bike for hours a day making him stronger than he'd ever been as a teenager. These guys were armed only with fists and feet, and Jo tore through them like paper, especially with the element of surprise. He threw them into walls and stomped on feet and punched jaws until he was at the few crowding Harley. Harley was curled in the fetal position, still holding that damned thing as if to protect himself with it- or worse, to protect the thing itself over his own body- and Jo stumbled over him as he pushed the last three towards the wall.

"You gonna pick on a defenseless computer geek, or you think you can pull that shit on a fuckin' man?" Jo put himself between the thugs and Harley, cracking his knuckles and loosening the muscles in his neck with a few tips of his chin. His eyes roved them as the three traded quick looks to one another, not so stupid as to trade words out loud but not smart enough to figure Jo could read their actions. All three rushed him at once, and Jo first shoved the center attacker into the left and kicked the right into the wall, good enough to stun him. As the center recovered, Jo ducked to put a fist into his groin, and he rolled under to the left and caught him by the leg and twisted it back behind him. He felt a satisfying pop somewhere higher in the joint, and released him to deal with the guy who'd started on the right, who was recovering now. He was trembling, not strong enough to get up, not smart enough to roll away when Jo put his fist in his collar. Another Cent tattoo decorated his collarbone, and Jo pressed him into the brick. "So, what the hell did Harley ever do to you?"

Harley moaned softly from the ground, and Jo pinned the guy to the wall and turned to face him. "Conscious yet?" He shoved the guy to the wall again, making sure his head cracked against the brick, and dropped him. Most of the guys he'd dealt with had recovered enough to get up and run, and drag the worse-off with them, and the few who were left were working on the same. Harley didn't move, but opened his eyes.

"You said my name. Why... ah, how could you know?" He laughed weakly, in the saddest, emptiest way Jo could imagine, and shut his eyes again. He tried to put his right leg under him, but as soon as he tried to move the hip joint, he moaned and dropped flat. "Oh... oh dear..." Jo heard the guy behind him getting up and didn't even pay attention when he picked up his buddy and hauled him off. He instead got down beside Harley to see what had been done.

"Shit, where the hell're your glasses?" Jo patted the ground around him, not wanting to take his eyes off the guy. He was still trying to stand, but his right leg wasn't cooperating. Jo could see cuts and bruises on his face and on his chest where his buttons had been ripped off, nothing deep, but not all damage was visible. Couldn't see what had happened to his leg, anyway. He found plastic under his fingers, and quickly cleaned the lenses off on the bottom of his shirt. "Hey, here they are, and it's not like they could've gotten any worse, right?" He put them back onto Harley's face. Okay, small problem solved. Now the big problem. "So, look, I get that you don't like me, but I'm gonna get you to the ER-"

"Please, n-no." Harley pushed the dome towards the ground, carefully setting it upright. "S-sorry, Haku-"

"Haku?" Jo looked, and lifted the cover. It was a birdcage, and Jo could see a very obviously frightened white dove fluttering against the roof of the cage as if it were trying to get to Harley, shedding feathers like confetti on a parade. Jo's field of vision snapped back to Harley. "You were protecting your fucking pet?! Fucking Christ- come on, we're going to the fucking-"

"Don't take me to a hospital, I'm not that bad off." Harley shook his head. "If... if you could just get me to K-One, I'd be grateful." Jo frowned- the homeless shelter mission? Why would he- "Do you know where-"

"I've been." Jo didn't want to waste time arguing, and he wrapped one arm around Harley to lift him up onto his shoulder, then lifted the cage by some of the wires. "I'll get you there, man. It's gonna be okay." He realized that the last few thugs were gone, and an envelope had been shoved in through the bars of the cage. Jo frowned to himself- this was no random attack. He hadn't thought so, but that sealed the deal. "It's gonna be okay," he repeated without knowing what "it" was, and started to carry Harley and his bird out into the street.

He couldn't be mad at the guy anymore. He just wanted to ask what the hell sort of business he had with the Cents. Maybe that was what Harley was hiding under that mask, and with that in mind, Jo didn't care which side of the mask was facing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sorry for the long wait! The music on Harley's radio is "Gracious" by Ben Howard. Oh, and there is a full-length "Masque of the Red Death" movie, based on the Poe short story. Vincent Price stars. It has been expanded with subplots about the Emperor being a Satanist and trying to seduce a woman he kidnapped, and the dwarf jester trying to get him and his dwarf girlfriend (played by a little girl being dubbed over by an adult woman) out of the castle while getting his revenge on a man dressed in an ape costume, and... it's exactly as bad as you think it is (in my opinion.) I actually found out about it because some of the dialogue was sampled for a Theatre of Tragedy song. Next chapter will be up (hopefully) soon!


	3. Better Than The Streets, At Least

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few new faces grace the stage, and just who is after Harley and why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, another 8/5! We really should just have a 3-month-long festival between the two days, except then there'd have to be one for 9/3 and 3/9, and 6 months is a long holiday. And then there's the question of which direction we go- would it be a 9 month festival from August to May? ... I'm putting too much thought into this.
> 
> Remember, if you ever have trouble figuring out who's who in this universe, just ask. I hope it's relatively obvious, even though a few MINOR changes have occurred in adapting them.

**3: Better Than the Streets, At Least**

"Yo, Padre!" Jo shouted as he backed into the door and shoved it open with a creak, stumbling with Harley against him- guy was lighter than he was, but not by much, and Jo was strong, but six blocks carrying double your weight wasn't easy. The entrance hall was lit only by the light through the long windows beside the door, and the high window over the church steeple forming a round puddle towards the other end of the hall. "Anyone home?"

"You're here, Jo? I didn't order anything... or were you finally evicted?" The hall light flipped on, and Father Steele, dressed in cassock and collar, straw-blonde hair uncombed (never combed, based on Jo's experience), glided in, lighting a cigarette with a sneer painted over what might have otherwise been youthful, handsome features. He looked twice, and the sneer turned straight to a scowl. "What the fuck did you do?!"

Jo wasn't sure and didn't care which 'you' Steele was addressing as he closed in, steam puffing from the tip of his cigarette like a factory smokestack. "What makes you think either of us did anything? Harl got jumped. He asked me to get him here." Steele rolled the sleeves on his cassock up and took Harley's other shoulder onto his, and Harley smiled politely at him and let himself be draped halfway onto Steele.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Father-"

"Shut the hell up." Steele's icy eyes fixed on Jo over Harley's shoulder. "I'm not going to ask. I don't care. But you brought him here, you're going to fucking help, get it?!" He spat his half-smoked cigarette aside and tugged Harley forward, leaving Jo no choice but to follow.

K-One River Mission, at the corner of Kennedy Avenue and First Street, was located inside of what might once have been a pretty nice church, judging by the stone pillars on either side of the outside door, and the elegant stone facade that made Jo think of government buildings or museums with ivy that grew around the corners of the roof and into the little crevices of mortar that gave it a graceful sort of age. Any of that class was long in the past, like any glory that this part of the city might have known. The room that was probably used as a sanctuary in its past had been converted into an overnight shelter for the homeless, with bunked beds lining the walls except for the where confessional box was anchored, and long picnic-style tables in place of pews. The Mission and its volunteers gave out sandwiches and bagged lunches during the day and even now, the room was filled with dirty, shabby men and women in clothes far too heavy for a spring this warm. Jo guessed there were at least thirty of them, sitting around the tables with plates of spaghetti and red sauce, passing around hunks of bread and speaking in languages from all corners of Shangri-La and maybe even some other places. One small face under an uncouth mop of brown hair looked up as Father Steele led Jo in with Harley on his shoulders, and he gulped down the last of his portion and jumped up to follow him.

"Hey, what happened to Harley?" The brown-haired boy squeaked- his voice hadn't quite cracked, Jo surmised with a smirk- and he tugged Harley's sleeve. "Hey, Harl!"

"Not now, Gage," Steele growled, but Gage followed them into Steele's office at the back of the building. "Office" might have been the proper term, but the desk had a bed behind it shoved flush to the wall, and Jo doubted very much work was actually done in here based on the sloppy mass of papers that covered the desk and the flashing light on Steele's answering machine. Jo set Haku's cage down on the desk, and Steele put Harley down on the bed. "If you're going to be a pest, be a good pest and get the first aid kit." Jo looked to Gage, and Gage looked right back at Jo.

"Pretty sure he means you, shorty," Jo pointed out. "I don't know where the first aid kit is." Gage gaped for a second, then stuck his little pink tongue out at Jo and dove into Steele's desk to find the kit. Steele turned his lamp on, and waved over his shoulder.

"Other, larger pest, help me get his clothes off."

"Ha!" Gage snickered, and Jo flinched.

"No way! You do it!"

Steele ripped open the top drawer of his desk and whipped out a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson, leveled at Jo's head. Jo flinched, grumbled an inadvertent prayer, then shoved past Gage to get to the bed. Steele retreated to help Gage look through his desk, and Jo rolled his sleeves up. Harley had started to unbutton his shirt, but Jo slapped his trembling hand down.

"Quit that. You hold still and let us fix you up." He sighed, and offered an apologetic smirk. "Sorry 'bout this." Jo started pulling what was left of Harley's shirt buttons off. Harley flinched when he opened the bottom of his shirt, and Jo caught a glimpse of an ivory scar shaped like an arrowhead across the right side of his belly. No time to ask now. Jo popped Harley's belt loose and yanked his pants down, and Harley kicked them the rest of the way off with his good leg. "I'm leavin' the boxers, 'less you got your nuts stomped, and if you got your nuts stomped, I'm calling 911 and I don't care what you say."

"No, no, I think I protected anything vital." Harley's left eye lingered on Jo. "Er... I..."

"Shut up." Steele shoved his way between them, kit in hand, and pushed a roll of bandages and a bunch of alcohol swabs into Jo's hand. "Let's see what the damage is."

Jo and Father Steele cleaned and patched Harley up, and Jo still couldn't figure out what made Harley want to come here. Father Steele was no nurse, his wrappings no better than anyone off the street could have done, and with Gage hovering over their shoulders and trying to make conversation with Harley, there were a lot of unwelcome distractions. As he went on, though, Jo figured Steele seemed to know at least a little about injury, gently testing Harley's limbs and asking "On a scale of one to ten, how much does that hurt?" then grumbling to Gage to get ice. Luckily, the damage wasn't too bad- bruises, scrapes, cuts, a split lip. The worst was probably the one that had kept Harley from getting up and walking on his own, and the only number over a five that Harley had admitted to Steele's questioning- his right leg had been dislocated at the hip.

"Jo, hold his shoulder down. Gage, hold his left leg." Gage scrambled to the other end of the bed, and Steele took a rolled up vestment from his desk. "You know what this is. You know not to bite through this. I trust you won't bite your own tongue on it?"

One good shove, one loud crack, and Harley's leg was back in the socket. Harley rolled from his side to his back, and tested his leg with a few bends at the knee. Steele stepped back and lit a cigarette anew- cheap Marlboros, Jo could tell from this close- and studied Harley. "You're going to want to go easy on that leg for a while. Maybe see a doctor."

"No, thank you; I'll manage." Harley bowed his head. "Thank you, all three of you." He looked up at the boy at the end of the bed. "Gage, you were a tremendous help."

"Aw, gee!" Gage's cheeks turned pink, and Jo turned away from the happy kid to the bird cage. Haku had calmed considerably, and cooed softly as Jo slid his fingers in through the bottom of the cage to draw the envelope out. Behind him, Steele narrowed his eyes at Harley.

"What happened?"

"Ah, it was nothing- a bit of a misunderstanding, you see-"

"Misunderstand this." Jo thrust the envelope towards Harley. "I don't think they left you and your bird a love letter." Harley's fingers trembled as he took the envelope, and Steele's brow creased. Gage blinked, head cocking with childish curiosity.

"Hey, what's-"

"Gage, were you still hungry?" Steele rumbled.

"Uh- yes?"

"Go get seconds." Steele snapped the envelope from Harley as Gage bounded from the room, crowing about how he 'NEVER got seconds!,' and ripped it open in the same motion. It was a Hallmark card with a boy and a girl holding hands on the front. Harley turned liquid-paper white, and Steele flipped the card open. His eyes ran across it quickly, and he tossed the card at Harley. Jo looked over Harley's shoulder, and the few words written screamed volumes and sent a knot of nausea right to his gut:

'CHARON YSIDRO SENDS HIS LOVE'

"Harley, what the fuck?" Jo could barely speak, choked the words out and squeezed a hand on Harley's shoulder. "What the hell does Charon Ysidro want with you?!"

"You'd know better than I," Harley whispered, moving to pull Jo off, but Jo clamped down.

"I know better than to fuck with the Cents! Why the fuck is Ysidro looking for you?!"

"Excuse me," Steele cut in, "but for the benefit of those of us  _not_  involved with the criminal element, who the fuck is Charon Ysidro?"

"He's the bastard kid of Hector Maoh, the Cent's exec." Jo glared at Harley for a second, then away, and continued, his voice thicker by the word: "I never met 'em, either of 'em, but I remember Benny howling about how the boss had knocked up some Greek chick from the Hand of Isis gang in Chicago, and when the kid got the positive paternity test, he demanded a job with Daddy. Benny thought it was the funniest fucking thing ever, little Prince stepping into big King Centipede's shoes, 'til he crossed paths with the bastard." Jo shivered, ashen. "Doctor wasn't sure they'd save his fingers. Benny didn't even do anything wrong to the guy. He did it 'cause he thought it was funny." He closed his fists and looked back up at Harley. "So I'll ask you again- what the fuck-"

"Former Cent exec," Harley murmured. He had folded his hands in his lap and wore a dark look under the shadow of his bangs.

"Former," Jo repeated, not sure what else to say.

"Hector Maoh no longer holds the position. One can't be a gang leader when he's dead."

"Oh God, Jesus fucking God, Hector Maoh's dead?!" Jo pulled at his own hair with a groan. "That means fucking Ysidro- Harley, fucking hell! How did you-"

"How didn't you know? Unless..." Harley trailed off, and Steele cleared his throat.

"None of that matters."

"Like hell it does!" Jo clenched his fists. "Harley-!"

"Please, don't make me talk about it," Harley whispered, throwing Jo off-kilter.

"No, you don't have to," Steele concurred before Jo could recover, and stepped back from his bed. He sounded gruffly, begrudgingly sympathetic. "How's your leg?"

"I believe it's alright now." Harley swung his leg over the side and put his foot on the ground, then tested some weight on it. He winced, then smiled. "Yes, I think I can stand."

"Harley," Jo tried to interrupt.

"Has Gage done his homework?"

"Does he ever?" Steele folded his arms, and Harley laughed.

"I'll go and help him. Excuse me." There it was, that fucking clown mask, that fake-ass smile, and Jo would punch him if he thought it would help. Harley passed him by without a second glance, and Jo turned his glare to Steele.

"Alright, Father, what the hell?" He was steamed now, shoulders tense and hands shaking, but Steele kept his cool, steady as he pulled out a new cigarette.

"It's none of your business."

"I don't give a shit! I got dragged into it, I need to goddamn know!"

"How long have you even known Harley?"

"Not long, but I saved the guy's life!"

"Hmph." Steele sniffed. "Funny way you have of currying favor." He sighed out a cloud of smoke. "It's not your business. If you're going to know, then Harley will tell you himself. All I'm going to say is that, just from what precious little I know about you, you are uniquely equipped to make things a lot worse."

"You hardly even know me, old man! Shit!" Jo threw his hands up and chased Harley out the door, stomping past Steele. Father Steele groaned into his clenched teeth.

"Good Lord."

The tables were starting to clear, and Harley had Gage seated with a great big book open in front of him. Harley was pointing at something in it, and Gage was trying as hard as he could not to fall asleep. "Awh, Harley, I don't care about pearls and sick babies! I wanna read Batman!"

"I'm afraid Batman's not in the curriculum, young man. Start here, I'll read with you." Jo sat down behind Harley, and though Harley didn't turn, Gage did.

"Hey, Mister, what's yer name?" He grinned toothily at Jo, and Jo grinned back.

"Don't call me Mister, and it's Jo."

"Jo?" Gage grinned. "Hey, that's kinda awesome! See, he's Harley, you can be the Jo-ker!"

"Uh. Joker?" Jo frowned, but Gage was off and away, clapping his hands and chanting:

"Joker! Jo-jo-Joker!" Harley actually laughed, one of those real laughs that Jo was sure he'd only heard once or twice before, and turned around on the bench to face Jo.

"I suppose I'll apologize for him. Gage really is a sweet boy, but he's unmanageable off his medicine."

"What's he on?" Jo scratched his head as Gage grabbed one of the other tenants and tried to convince him to sing and dance along. "He seems pretty healthy."

"Buproprion and zinc supplements for his ADHD, and while Father Steele has said he must take lithium for his intermittent explosive disorder, I've never seen symptoms of the latter."

Jo scratched his head. He knew what ADHD was, but intermittent explosive disorder was unfamiliar. Harley's mind seemed to snap into place to realize that, and he explained, "It's an anger and impulse control issue. I've been told he used to throw monstrous temper tantrums. Gage has been with Father Steele since before I knew either of them, so it might have gotten under control long before I was ever involved. The hyperactivity issue, however..." Harley looked, indicatively, and Jo followed his sightline to Gage, still dancing with himself, now humming the theme to the Batman cartoon. "Well, he's only twelve, he just might grow out of it yet." Jo frowned and rubbed his chin.

"Kinda sucks, he's that young and weighed down by that stuff already. So, how long's he been off his pills?"

"Oh, he's fully dosed right now." Harley beamed, and Jo slapped his own forehead.

"He needs more." Jo moved towards Gage, until Steele strolled back in from his office carrying a newspaper. He stopped behind Gage and smacked him with it over the head.

"Noisy brat, I'm trying to get work done!" He gave him another whack, and Gage whined and covered his forehead.

"Ow, quit it, Dad!"

"Father, not Dad!" Steele hit him a few more times. "How many times do I have to tell you?!" Jo's instinct was to step in and stop him, but Gage was giggling into his arms, and he quickly put together that this was just how they were. It was an affectionate sort of beating, and Gage chased Steele back into his office, chattering about how boring his homework was. Harley and Jo were left side by side, ignoring the game of dominoes starting midway down the table and the mah jong set up behind him, and Jo set his elbow on the table and leaned to try and look into Harley's eyes.

"Listen, man, I get you don't want to tell me everything, but like it or not, I'm kinda involved now." He sighed when he realized Harley wasn't going to look at him. "Just, I guess I offended you earlier, and I don't know what I did."

"You're alright." Harley smiled and bowed his head. "I was rude to you, as well."

"It's cool. Really." Jo folded his legs on the bench and planted his hands on his ankles. "So, uh, Steele patched you up pretty good. Is that why you wanted to come here? Or did you really just want to help the shorty with his homework?"

"I live here." Harley tapped his left toe to the floor, and Jo raised both eyebrows.

"Harl, you're employed. You're a goddamned professional. Don't tell me you're too broke for a place of your own."

"Oh, it's nothing like that, I assure you." Harley laced his fingers on his lap. "I'm trying to save for college, for one; I'm rather struggling to get my full ride scholarship from before my arrest reinstated now that I'm out of the judicial system, but I'd like to complete my degree. I could probably still afford some sort of lodgings on my own, if by the skin of my teeth, but-" His head tipped lower. "I suppose I don't relish the thought of being all alone, by myself, with nothing but the sound of my own voice to keep me company."

Jo completely understood that. He could just picture Harley in a little white room, hugging his knees and staring out a window, blurring the lines between the cell and the outside. "Guess I don't have to ask about the bird, then."

"Ah, Haku?" Harley smiled, twiddled his fingers in little circles. "He was abandoned in his cage by a trash can. I couldn't ask his previous owner why, and I can't imagine why someone would throw away a beautiful creature like him. I'm entirely uncertain of which variety he is- I'm afraid I'm not an expert- but he's an albino, and they're uncommon."

"So you just picked him up, and now you've got a new best friend." It sounded nice. "But, uh, you seem like a nice guy. You're, like, the exact opposite of a slob, you've got more manners in one pinky than me all put together. You could get a roommate. Why not that?"

"All these questions," Harley murmured, and laced his fingers to still them. Jo snorted.

"Because you didn't ask me a dozen earlier. Come on. It's my turn."

"You raise a good point." Harley smiled again, but couldn't quite lift his head or eyes. "Er, I suppose I'm just very nervous about meeting strange people." Harley unlaced his fingers and fidgeted again. "A roommate is a rather intimate situation, and it's difficult enough to talk to customers, let alone trying to become familiar. To be honest, I don't think I'd talk to anyone if Zack didn't force me. I don't talk to anyone here but Father Steele and Gage; I don't have to."

"Hey, but you're doin' fine with me!" Jeez, Zack had to think it was pathetic to have to pep-talk a full grown man to have a conversation. Jo was kind of feeling the same, until Harley managed to lift his head to let his smile brush over Jo, and Jo grinned right back. "See, you're good."

"I suppose you have animal magnetism." He laughed softly, that "A-ha-ha" that meant it wasn't really funny. Jo felt his smile wear, and dropped his palm to the table.

"Come on, though. A homeless shelter. There's hostels if you need to be around people you don't have to talk to, those are at least a little better. You never know who's gonna walk in a place like this." Jo drew his eyes around the room, over the figures hunched over their games or gathered around the Shangri-La-based news station crackling through the television speakers in rapid gibberish. "Why here?"

"Ah, well, I knew Father Steele before." Before before, Jo figured. "I trust him."

"You can trust that guy all you like, but just 'cause I can't spot any danger in here don't mean it ain't here, or that it ain't gonna just walk in. Those front doors never lock. Harl, I know you don't wanna talk about it, but you ain't safe in here."

Harley laughed again, and Jo knew it wasn't funny. "Is there truly such a thing?"

"Hell, no, but there's unsafe, and there's safer. This place is unsafe." Jo put his feet on the floor and pulled his hand into a fist. "If you wanna live, you need to go somewhere safer." Harley didn't respond, and Jo folded his arms. "Look, I get you think I'm a piece of shit 'cause I was with a gang. You don't have to tell me or explain shit about it, but I'm long done with all that!" He sighed, as Harley lowered his head again, and Jo hesitated at the despondent look he wore. He wasn't even sure it was the mask anymore, but he steeled himself and made the offer: "My apartment's a shithole, but you can hear all the neighbors through the walls, and it's got a lock."

"Ha. You're incomprehensible." Harley shook his head.

"Yeah, but I mean it. At least for tonight, stay at my place. You'll have some noise, and you won't even have to deal with me."

Harley looked up again, turned his body to face Jo full on. "You trust me so much as to invite me into your home?"

"Hell no!" Jo laughed sharply. "But I got nothing worth stealing, and when you say you're an honest man and tell me just what a dishonest man would do, you're pretty fucking believable. I can patch you up just as good as the old man can, change your bandages in the morning, and I'll even walk you to work." He gave Harley's arm a shove. "Whaddya say?"

"I don't understand why you would do that." Harley drew his arms in, away from Jo.

"Because I said your name. Is that why you changed it from whatever it was before? So they wouldn't find ya?" Jo waited, but Harley didn't answer. "Look, all I need to know is that Ysidro wants your ass for whatever reason, and if I made it easier for him to find you, I gotta man up and deal with it. 'Least until the heat's off." Harley still didn't answer, and Jo didn't want to have to beg, but he folded his hands like a kid begging for seconds on dessert. "Just one night! One night, I swear, and if you hate me, I won't even be mad!"

"I..." Harley paused. "I want to know first. Forgive me. Are you still in the gangs?"

"Hell no."

"That is a relief," Harley conceded with a bow of his head. "And... you, you're decent, and you seem kind-" Jo snorted, but Harley finished, "Why on earth would you join a gang?"

Jo whistled and rolled his eyes. "You want the philosophical shit, or the full answer?" He swung his legs over to the other side of the bench, turning his shoulder to Harley and his face away. "Look, I get it. Nobody in their right mind joins up like that. But, well, even stuff that seems crazy starts making sense when you think about it in different ways." He grumbled under his breath, hunched his shoulders, as Harley stared through him, his good eye fixed on him like a gutted fish on ice. "I dunno, I'm not so good... Look, Benny." Jo snapped his fingers when it came to him. "He used to be sorta mid-level in terms of the pecking order, and he was my only real contact with the Crows. I can't explain it so well, but his crazy ass, he thought it all out and babbled the whole thing to me once while he was smoking something raw." Jo folded his arms, and repeated the words as best as he could remember. "Guys, guys join up for different reasons, but it all sorta comes back to the same spots. You feel weak and you wanna be strong. You're alone and you don't wanna be. You need somethin' you don't got, and having someone else to help you get it, by any means, is gonna fix whatever's missing. And who you join, it's either about who runs the streets around you, or how you best think you can fix it whatever's wrong with you. You join the Sharks because you're broke. You join the Bulls because you wanna hurt people. You join the Cents 'cause you're fucked up."

"And you?"

Jo winced. "You join the Crows because you're hungry." Harley turned to look at him, but he shrugged his shoulders. "That's really all there was to it. Benny said if I did stuff for him, he'd give me money and food, and if he had a place to stay, I had a place to stay, and that's all she wrote. It's not like I got tattooed or initiated, I never really joined, I was just sort of on the outskirts, waiting for them to throw me scraps. It's better than starving, y'know, and I had two hands and no better way to use them." He folded his arms. "I'm straight now. I've got better shit to do with my life than ruin someone else's."

"Then, if you haven't changed your mind, I'd be alright coming with you." Jo looked, and that familiar, kind smile was back. Jo felt his insides warm to see it, and he was going to say something a little more profound when Steele arrived above them, Gage's elbow locked between his index finger and thumb.

"Make him do his homework, or tie him to the seat, I don't care, just keep him out of my way." He released Gage and stalked off, and Gage stuck his tongue out at him.

"Meanie!" He turned back and grinned at them. "So, can I play with you?"

"First, homework, then we can play a bit." Harley scooted back to make room between him and Jo, and Gage hopped into the seat. Jo turned around too.

"Yeah, I'll help too." He leaned over Gage's shoulder, and grinned at Harley. "With the playing part at least."

It had been a weird day, but Jo liked rolling with the punches. Besides, they'd gotten through the rough patch. All clear skies from here on!

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Gage references for his homework is "The Pearl" by John Steinbeck, which I read in middle school.


	4. Taking a Dude Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo takes Harley home, and that just throws him right the hell off.

**4:**   **Taking a Dude Home**

"You sure your leg's okay, dude?" Jo stopped at the top of the stairwell and slung Harley's satchel over his shoulder, as Harley limped up to the midway landing.

"Oh, I'm quite fine." He smiled, but there was a pinched, pained look under the mask. "If I don't use it, the muscles will degrade."

"I'm not sure it works that way, but whatever you say." Jo still waited for him to catch up. "I guess it's supposed to keep the building's electricity costs down, but it sucks that you gotta have a damned doctor's note to use the elevator."

"I don't mind, really." Harley stopped at Jo's side, and Jo threw the door open.

"As long as you're sure. If your leg still feels like shit tomorrow, you might want to call out of work." He started down the hall, over the carpet that was either a modern art pattern or badly stained. The walls were white- past tense, as they now seemed to drip gray from the ceiling, and were scuffed and stained. Jo could smell fish guts and squid ink, and wrinkled his nose- Mrs. Van had been cooking with her door open again, but Harley didn't seem to mind the stench. He picked up his pace, and Harley followed, slower but very much trying to keep up. "I mean, you don't take care of that leg, you could do some permanent damage."

"Ah, I wish it were that easy." Harley giggled, and took a pointedly normal step, even bending the knee completely. "If I don't work, I don't get paid, I'm afraid. Besides, I need to finish your computer, and if I'm not there, nothing gets done."

"A computer ain't more important than someone's health. Ken would say the same, he's actually weirdly cool when it comes to that sort of stuff." Jo chuckled. "Like, this one time, I came in hung over and needed to run out in the middle of a meeting to spill my guts into a trashcan, and he actually stopped to be sure I was okay. Chewed me out when I told him why I was sick, but he was seriously worried something was wrong with me."

"Ken- your immediate manager?"

"Owner of the company. It's a small business," he added, before Harley could ask. "It's him, a couple girls who answer the phone, and five delivery guys."

"Ah." Harley nodded his understanding. "To be honest, I've never even met the real boss of the company. She called during my second week of work, and only spoke to Zack. I believe we're one of several businesses she owns, but she really doesn't do anything for them that I can tell."

"Huh." Jo shrugged. "Well, Ken's, like, the exact opposite of that. I don't think I'll ever have a better boss, y'know?" He grinned back at Harley. "Don't think anyone else'd ever hire me, anyway."

"You can't be all that bad."

"Yeah, well." Jo stopped and set Haku's cage and Harley's bag down, then fished into his back pocket. "I ain't lookin' to change jobs anyway. Keeping regular employment is like, a third of my parole conditions. This here's the next third, or, as I like to call it..." He shoved his key into the slot, jostled it, and shoved the door open. "Welcome to el casa de Jo."

"Don't you mean la ca-" Harley stopped before the language lesson could start as Jo ushered him inside, picking up Haku and the backpack as he did, and gawked at Jo's apartment. He really hadn't been sure what to expect, and he shouldn't have been nearly so surprised. The front hall was crowded with a black mountain bike with red tiger stripes in the shape of a skewed W logo, with a basket strapped to the back, and Jo skirted it into the single room that made up the rest of the apartment. There wasn't much to it- a rumpled, unmade bed in the corner under the window, a sunken-in futon in front of a battered-looking television that might have been older than its owner. There was a laptop computer with sleep lights blinking lazily from the breakfast bar that divided the tiny kitchen and pantry from the rest of the studio, and Harley could see a stack of dishes in the sink. Next to a basket of laundry (one which Harley couldn't discern whether it was clean or dirty, as it was all sort of tossed in) and partly buried under a spare blanket sat a row of hand weights, though the slot for the six-pound barbell was empty and there was a crook in the handle of the three-pound weight. The nicest thing in the room was a nearly-new looking stereo system, dust-free and mounted on a media center overstuffed with CDs, DVDs, even a handful of VHS or tape cassettes, and an off-brand mp3 player seated in the top. Jo seemed to catch him looking and grinned.

"I got the best movie collection in town. Back when that awesome VHS library shut down last year, I got a bunch of my old favorites for pennies on the dollar. I was happier than a pig in shit- but I guess I gotta be more careful. I think I've damn near wore out ' _Glen or Glenda_ ' by now. Plus, music wise, I got a whole shitload of classic albums and rare stuff and B-sides- I mean, I don't think anyone out there's got a better collection of The Ramones catalog than me. Pearl Jam, too- that stripped-down Toronto performance I got'll run ya like two-hundred on eBay."

"I suppose that is a matter of pride," Harley conceded, then took another helpless look around the room. Jo put Haku down next to the laptop, then wagged a finger at him.

"Listen, bird, I need that thing for work and stuff and there ain't no better flat surface for ya. You shit on it, I'm turning you into nuggets." He smirked, and Haku squawked at him and nipped at his finger through the bars. "Ow! Damn!" Jo shook his finger off. "You don't understand me, why the hell are you being a jerk now?!"

"Don't underestimate him." Jo glanced over to Harley, and saw he was testing the futon with his hands, pressing down into it. "I've found that he is very picky about who he likes. I'm not sure why he let you reach into his cage earlier, but it seems he's changed his mind since."

"Eh." Jo sniffed at Haku, nostrils flaring. Haku seemed to sniff right back, though he was a bird and birds can't do much more than coo aggressively. "Never much cared for animals anyway." He whirled back around to Harley. "Now, what the hell're you doin'?"

"Ah, me?" Harley stood upright, dusted his palms on his khakis. "I suppose I'll be sleeping here. I was just curious as to-"

"No way, dude. I have a bed." Jo pointed at the disheveled pile of sheets and blankets. "That futon's comfy for sitting, but it's shit for your back. I wouldn't let you have that, not when you're still busted up."

"And where will you sleep, then?"

"Uh, we'll work it out. Yeah." Jo picked up the spare blanket and tossed it to the futon. "I can sleep on the futon tonight, it's fine for me." He shoved his laundry basket next to the futon. "See, you just go on and put your stuff down there." He stepped back and stuffed his hands in the pockets. "Uh, you can go wherever you want in the house. Not too far to go, really. I mean, pantry's a little shallow, and there's not much but beer and milk in the fridge, but you can have whatever you want if you're hungry. Mi casa, su casa, whatever." He watched as Harley set his bag down and knelt by the media center. "Oh, yeah, and you can watch or listen to whatever you want! I dunno if there's anything in my CD catalog you'll like, but my movie collection rocks." Harley pursed his lips, unimpressed. "Uh, I've got cable, if you don't feel like watching movies."

"Hm. No books?" Harley craned his neck around to look at Jo, and Jo chuckled nervously.

"Never much for reading, sorry. I, uh, I think I get a couple news stations." He had a feeling Harley might like that, and the little smile he got in response indicated that he just might. "So, you know, get comfy, do whatever you want, just keep the blinds shut and don't go anywhere. You're probably tired, so you'll probably be asleep when I get back-"

"Get back?" Harley raised his head at this. "Were you leaving?"

"Uh, yeah. Just for a little while."

"And, where are you going?"

"Out." Jo shrugged. "I mean, it's Wednesday, and it's stopped raining. I was gonna head to Heavy Sands, play a few rounds. Shit," he hesitated, as he realized what he was saying. "Uh, you wanna come with?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't. I'm still a bit sore." Harley settled on the sofa, hands planted on his knees. "In fact, I may just turn in early. It's been a trying day." He laced his fingers around his knee. "But if you wish to leave, I can't stop you."

"Man, and I brought you here to keep you company." Jo hemmed and hawed for a moment, then sighed. "Look, if I don't go, I ain't gonna be able to afford lunch 'til next Friday."

"Beg pardon?" Harley frowned.

"Payday's Friday, yeah?" Jo numbered the days on his fingers. "I just paid rent, and even if this place is pretty small, I'm dropping about half my pay on it." He fidgeted, and talked in a rush. "So, right after rent comes due, I kinda have trouble affording food, so I'll play a few rounds of poker or pool to shore up the ol' budget." He shrugged and put on a nervous little grin. "I'm good, too! Win, most of the time."

"And if you lose?"

"Well, sucks to be me, then." Jo pulled his jacket back on. "You really don't mind?"

"Like I said, I think I'll go to bed early. You're certain you don't mind if I take the, ah, bed?" Harley glanced to the bed, but couldn't quite tell top from bottom. Jo shrugged again and jammed his feet down into his boots.

"You're still busted up. All yours." He tossed Harley an easy grin. "I won't be out late, just keep the door shut, alright?"

Harley smiled, his bangs shaded some of his expression. "I won't open the door, not even for a nice grandmother with a basket of cookies."

"Take the cookies, shoot the witch." Jo grinned and mimicked a pistol with his right hand. "See you in a little while, dude!" He shut the door before he could stall a second longer and made a break for the bus stop, through the smelly, dank hallway, all the way back down the stairs, back out into the humid city.

* * *

Heavy Sands was on the South side of the Little Shangri-La quarter, a cozy little dive with dark wood paneling and dust-clouded windows. The name was painted on the side, lit by flickering spot lights, and a neon "Open" sign buzzed like so many mosquitoes in the side window. Jo could hear the rush of water from the pier, see the lights from the high-rises gleaming green against the murky bay. The air was already clouded with smoke, and riding on the cramped 4 Line always made Jo want to pollute the air a little more. One more cigarette would just be gray on gray. Anti-smoker laws be damned, he lit up right off the bus. Jo didn't think he'd ever bother being a regular anywhere, but when he'd gotten out of jail, he'd jumped on the first bus passing the jail house and taken it somewhere that looked like it might sell cigarettes. He ended up at the general goods mart attached to Heavy Sands, heard a pool game starting up, and strolled right in and joined. Nobody carded him, and he didn't try to order beer so they wouldn't. He'd won a stack of fifties off the fiver in his pocket, got into a shouting match, got laid, and now returned to the same dive week after week in hopes of repeating the experience.

The barkeep knew him, knew his order and his tab. Jo'd had his first Natty Boh here, and the bartender greeted him with one every time he walked in now. He didn't even like the piss, but he drank it anyway and hissed as it slid down his throat. "Hey man, how 'bout a Flying Dog?" He grinned over the counter and shook his empty can. "Magic Hat? Or, you got anything new?" The barkeep rolled his eyes and slid him a can with an unfamiliar logo. "Thanks, man." He cracked this one and savored the first sip, then strolled through to the poker tables.

There were a few casinos in Chance Harbor, heavily licensed and regulated, and Heavy Sands wasn't one of them. But just like nobody carded him when he made his way to the tables the first time, nobody ever checked in on Heavy Sands' licenses, so not a single person gave a damn about getting caught gambling. Jo was sure the dim little bar wouldn't feel the same without round tables surrounded by hunched-shouldered card players and waitresses in black aprons weaving around delivering cans and bottles like water currents catching trash in the bay. Jo cast his gaze around for a familiar face, but someone else spotted him first.

"'Ey, Jojo!" A gruff, bombastic with a thick accent voice boomed from a corner, and Jo smirked and slunk across the room to join him. A big hulk of muscle with a square jaw and rectangular forehead and sloppy hair planted on top lifted a meaty arm to wave. "Come, join ze game! I need someone to explain zis American 'hhhhhhold 'em'!"

"Cut the Yakov Smirnof act, Yakim." Jo slid into the chair and kicked his feet out under the table. He didn't recognize the other three guys at the table, but he knew Yakim from work: one of the delivery drivers. Not a friend, but they were cool enough. Yakim chuckled, and some of the accent slipped from his voice.

"Yeah, the way these assholes play, they think I've never held 'em before."

"Shut up and deal, Yakim," one of the others grumbled, and Yakim chuckled and shuffled the deck.

"Fine by me." He winked at Jo. "Let's make this game a little more interesting, yeah?" Jo snorted and shrugged.

"What, you want special rules?" Another player raised an eyebrow, and Jo took a gulp of his beer and planted his feet.

"I bring the special rules." He smirked. "Let's deal."

He laid down a few dollars and picked up the first few hands. Yakim started cutting back to take some of Jo's winnings, but Jo was careful never to put down more than he'd started with. He only accepted one more can of beer; getting wasted was more fun when he wasn't worried about flushing his next three days of meals down the pisser. Yakim didn't seem to care, from the line of empty bottles stacking up faster than the waitresses thought to take them away. Jo didn't care either- Yakim didn't seem too drunk, and Jo was keeping his winning record easily. It was easy; he'd expected it to be. More interesting to Jo, anyway, was when the 'special rules' showed up.

"Mind if I watch?" A voice like honey washed over his ear, and Jo felt slender, silky fingers slide across the back of his neck. Jo let a dark smirk cross his face, and slid his gaze across the other four players- an obvious dare.

"Darlin', I love an audience." This was the real game. Cards in his hand and cash in his pocket be damned, the brown-eyed beauty on his shoulder was the real prize. He knew every single man at the table was looking at her, distracted or jealous. Jo knew he stood out in a crowd- the red hair would do that, and chicks dug confidence. He had learned it from Benny: smile, and the girls smile with you. The fact that he won most of the games he played didn't hurt. Girls noticed that kind of thing. The stack of cash he was tucking in his jacket pocket screamed 'I'll pay your bar tab if it'll get you home faster.'

When the first girl showed up, a few others joined her, and Jo smoothly flirted with each of them in turn as he played. Talking helped him keep his poker face, and he liked when they toyed with his hair or touched his shoulder and back. Of course he gave the most attention to the lovely lady who'd sidled up first; he was a loyal guy, after all. He made sure his eyes always went back to her, putting on the best smolder he had. The other players scoffed in disgust with every coy line he dealt, except Yakim, who got a good view of the back side of the girl on Jo's left.

"Man, Jojo, you get all the luck." He eyed her with a broad grin, and Jo chuckled and slipped an arm around the waist of the first girl.

"What can I say? The ladies are on my side, so Lady Luck must be somewhere 'round here." He gave her a squeeze, and she giggled. A nip of the arm, and she was in his lap.

"Mm, Jo." She batted her eyes. Her breath smelled like Smirnoff Ice and those soft mints they give out at cheap Chinese restaurants. "You are a lucky guy, huh?"

Jo grinned; he knew he'd taken a gamble, but when that move works, it  _works_. "Guess I'm  foldin' for tonight, fellas." He shoved his cards in. "Hey Yakim, don't stay out too late, yeah?"

"Ha." Yakim drained the last of his screwdriver and sniffed hard. "Nobody's waiting for me."

"Kenny'll be waiting for ya if you're late." He waved the waitress over to settle his tab, and traced his finger over the girl's- Chelsea? Kelsey? Whatever- hipbone. "I won't keep you waiting though, darlin'." He gave her a sly wink to seal the deal, and she giggled.

Yeah. Sometimes, it was just that easy. Most times, it was even easier.

Out into the parking lot, she staggered with her arm around his shoulder and crooned a sultry, "My place or yours?" He chuckled, ready to answer- then hesitated.

The brown hair that trailed over her shoulders and drifted in her eyes- wasn't that just a little familiar?

Shit. Harley. All alone in the house, still half-patched up from getting his ass kicked. Jo told himself that whoever took to him first got him first, and here he was walking off with number two. He seized her shoulder and touched his lips to hers.

"I'm a jackass, baby. I just remembered, I got an early morning." He trailed his mouth over to her ear. "Any way I can get your number and a rain check?"

Chelsea (oh, now he remembered!) put her number in his phone, and he gave her his just in case, and the two parted ways for different bus lines. Jo just curled up against the greasy velour and wondered what idiotic instinct made him take a guy home and why the hell he cared so damn much. Maybe it was like bringing in a lost kitten- the cute, stupid little thing might be a nuisance, but damn if it wasn't his nuisance now.

It was just as well. That girl was just part of the game. It would have been so easy to take her home and get what he wanted. The thing was, sometimes it wasn't even fun, it was just habit. She probably would have at least been a little fun, but she'd be gone in the morning with her strappy little heels hanging off her index finger, and Jo would go back to work like nothing had happened, because nothing had happened. And wasn't there always something just a little unnerving about the whole thing? The way they smiled at him, that same smirk on every face over or under his, even through heated kisses and gasps and moans, wasn't that always just a little eerie? Sex was nice- fuck it,  _really_  nice- and getting off was also  _really, really_  nice, but the game was just a little sickening. Jo was proud to be good at it, but it was just a little exhausting.

"At least Harley will be there in the morning. Jesus, I hope so."

He stumbled through the door and fished through the ink-black of his apartment for the light switch, but stopped- the lights were off for a reason, right? With the door shut, the red light gleaming through the curtain from the stoplight outside cast a bloody pall over the room that would have given Jo a chill if he weren't used to it. Harley had sprawled out on the bed, dressed in matching flannels, one knee up over his belly and his arms buried under his chin and nose. The sofa had a pillow and blanket laid out on it, and there was a glass of water and two aspirin set out on the coffee table. Jo felt a weird sense of relief to see Harley there- why had he been so worried? The light changed from red to green, a sickly teal haze washing over them, and Jo sighed and pulled the sheet up to the nape of Harley's neck.

"Christ, you don't need me here. The fuck was I worried about?" He brushed his hand over Harley's shoulder through the sheet, and turned the knob on the blinds to block out the outside city. "Swear to god, first and last time."

He went through the mundane motions of bedtime, washed his face and combed his hair out quick, stripped to his boxer briefs, dropped his clothes in the basket and his phone on the coffee table, and threw himself onto the futon. The room had turned red again, even through the blinds, and there was a rising and falling hum of trucks and taxis past the window. He pulled the pillow under his cheek and propped his feet up on the arm of the sofa- he was all leg, and they had to go somewhere. Someone laid on the horn hard outside, and Jo grunted and found the stereo beside the sofa in the dark. He turned the volume of the speakers as low as they went, turned his uPod on, and set the system on a two-hour kill-switch. He could just hear the music as he buried his ear in the pillow:

_"Walk with me, Susie Lee, through the park and by the tree..."_

Under the music, he heard a trill of soft laughter from the direction of the bed, but it was just part of the noise. He turned the volume a notch higher, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He didn't know if anyone else found Jack White soothing, but he could shut his eyes and see white light instead of red.

* * *

Jo woke to the clatter of dishes rather than the alarm on his cell phone. A bird chirped, and Jo wondered when he let a fucking pigeon into the house, until he opened his eyes and remembered Haku. And Harley. Fuck, where was Harley? Jo tumbled from the futon, and heard a chuckle somewhere over him.

"Ah, good morning, Joel." Jo untangled his head from the blanket to see Harley up on his feet beside him, fully dressed in chinos and shirtsleeves, nearly identical to the clothes he'd worn the day before. He smelled like almond soap and detergent, and his smile was the same shiny white as his buttons. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, man- Jeez, what time is it?" Jo found his cell phone on the table and checked the time- 7:04 am. "Ahh, fuck." He let his head fall back against the futon cushion. Harley cocked his head.

"Too early for your tastes?"

"I could have slept for another half hour." His knees hurt from hitting the floor, so going back to bed wasn't an option.

"Oh, goodness." Harley clicked his tongue and wandered back to the kitchen. Haku was pecking at a fresh serving of birdseed, and Harley had brought out a skillet. "Don't you have to be at work at nine?"

"Yeah, but I usually just roll out of bed, grab a shower, and run out the door." Jo groaned and got up to his feet. "So, what's up? How's the leg healing?" He dipped his head behind Harley, and Harley folded his arms in.

"Just fine. A bit sore, but I'll manage." He turned himself away from Jo, an odd discomfort pulling his lips thin. Jo started to ask, but Harley put on a reflective, bright smile. "I was going to make you some breakfast, but I'm having some trouble navigating your kitchen."

"Ah, yeah, that's easy. I got cereal." Jo passed Harley for the cupboard and pulled out a box of 'Frosty Flecks,' and shook it with a grin. "I don't care if Timmy the Tiger doesn't say they're 'grrrr-eat,' but these taste better than the brand stuff in milk, and then you can drink the sugary milk, and-"

"Oh, dear." Harley frowned again, and Jo felt really bad for whatever reason. "I'm afraid I'm lactose intolerant. Milk, dairy, anything in that family makes me ill." Jo tried to shake off the pity- how was he supposed to know his usual breakfast would make his surprise guest sick?- but Harley put a smile on. "Do you have any bread? I can just make myself some toast."

"I can't keep it in the house, I don't eat it enough, it just rots." Jo shrugged, and Harley started to study him. He hunched his shoulders- Harley looked weirdly like an owl, turning his chin side to side, and it was a little unnerving.

"Perhaps some eggs? I can poach, or I can make frittata out of anything." Jo hunched a little further, and Harley's eyes followed him. "I fry and scramble, too."

"No eggs. Sorry, man."

"Oh. If you have flour, I'll make some simple pancakes." He slipped around Jo to the pantry, and his jaw hung slack. Jo felt heat in his cheeks, as Harley looked at the selection. "Joel."

"Yes?" He winced- that stern tone. Jo was waiting for the wallop. Harley instead took a deep breath, and spun on his heel.

"How can one man eat this much Top Ramen?!" He threw his hands out, face wrought, and Jo flinched. "I didn't even know they made some of these flavors!"

"Well, uh, variety's the spice of life, right?" Jo grinned nervously, and straightened his back. With the distraught expression under Harley's glasses, Jo wasn't getting the idea that he was about to get scolded anymore. "Sometimes, I'll mix the spice packets together, like a combo!"

"Good grief, Joel!" Harley whirled back around and gawked at the stacks and boxes of freeze-dried noodles. "You're an adult! Living on nothing but Top Ramen- this is inexcusable!"

"Hey, it's not like all I eat is Top Ramen!" Jo folded his arms. "I got Maruchan, and Yakisoba, and Cup o' Noodle- hell, I got powdered miso soup in there for when I order in!"

"Order in?" Harley echoed.

"Yeah, don't you ever get takeout? I'll get the number 6 combo from the Golden Bowl around the corner some weekends- you get an egg roll and fried rice and bourbon chicken, and with the soup, it's so much I can reheat it for dinner." Harley looked ready to faint, but Jo added, "I got options! I get Subway sometimes, there's a pizza place that does this awesome meat-lover's personal pan-"

"Dear god, don't say McDonald's."

"Hell no, I got standards." Jo folded his arms. "Don't tell me you never go to restaurants."

"On special occasions. Most nights, I cook for the shelter." Harley wiped his brow, then scrubbed his cheeks. He slumped, his back against the pantry door. "You see, I have free reign of the kitchen there. Once I cook for the visitors, I can cook for myself. Father Steele will even give me money to go to the grocery store over on Second for him."

"Hey, I go to that grocery store sometimes too!" Jo beamed. "They got this awesome lunch buffet, you just pay by the pound! Best fried chicken I've ever had!"

"So, you know a grocery store exists?" Harley lifted his eyes from his fingers. Jo blew a bit of hair out of his face.

"Where'd you think I got the ramen?"

"You know that there is, in fact, a magical place just a few blocks away where food exists for purchase, including reasonably priced, healthful options that only require minimal amounts of effort to prepare into meals. We live in a city that suffers from a blight of food deserts, but you use this lovely resource as a wellspring for pre-fried noodles and previously frozen fried chicken?" Harley put his hands on his hips. "I must ask, do you bleed, or is there just a steady stream of sodium in your veins?"

"You know, I got this funny feeling you're mocking me."

"Ahaha." Jo snorted- that laugh was  _totally_  genuine- and Harley patted his shoulder. "I'm going shopping. You shower and dress. I'll be back soon."

"W-wait, where're you goin'?" Jo flailed after him as he toed his loafers on and slicked his hair down.

"I saw a convenience store while we were walking here last night. I'm sure they have some acceptable options." He smiled a gentle, patronizing smile. "It's broad daylight, and the street's not a quiet one. If there is anyone looking for me, they wouldn't dare try anything now."

"Then, let me-" Jo dove for the coffee table, scrambled through the pile of stuff he'd emptied from his jacket pockets to find his wallet, but Harley giggled as soon as he came up with it.

"No, no, I'll cover this. In fact, if you'd like, I could visit the store for you tonight. Consider it repayment for your favors to me."

"Aw, man." Jo scratched his head and knit up his eyebrows, but put his wallet down. "A favor's a favor, you don't need to pay me back."

"I want to." Harley smiled. "Unless you really rather I didn't."

"Nah." Jo smirked back, and set his hands on his hips. He looked Harley up and down again. "If you buy stuff for the house, that means you'll come back, right?"

"Come back?" Harley's echo held confusion this time.

"Yeah, y'know. If you didn't hate it, and if you like this any better than the shelter, you can come back tonight." Jo's mouth moved without him even thinking: "I'll walk you to work today, walk you to the shelter if you wanted to help them out, then bring ya right on back here for some rest and relaxation. I'll show you some of my favorite movies, you can bring some books in, y'know, nice and safe here with me." He stopped, rolled back everything he'd just said, and flushed at how stupid he sounded. "Look, we can just call the grocery thing your half of the rent. And that's if you want to stay."

"Joel, I'm afraid I just don't understand." Harley wasn't quite frowning, but the shadows from the close walls made his eyes dark. "You barely know me, and you're asking me to move in?"

Jo folded his arms tight around his chest, and hummed in his throat as he tried to think. "Dammit. It just feels right, okay?"

Harley flicked him with his eyes, then smiled warmly. "I'm borrowing your keys. I'll be back." He took a few long strides, swiped up the house key from Jo's mess, then whipped right back around and out the door. Jo blinked a few times, then looked to Haku, who crooned and cocked his feathered little head.

"Sounded like a 'yeah' to you, right, birdie?" He approached the cage and tapped the bars. "Guess that means you an' me are roomies too, now." Haku pecked at his finger through the bars, and Jo chuckled and made for the bathroom.

Jo emerged clean and dressed for the day half an hour later, chin freshly shaved and hot aftershave still burning in the nicks, to find he wasn't the best smelling thing in his little apartment. Harley had moved Haku to a space cleared on the coffee table, and there were two plates of pancakes dolloped with some sort of dark blue jam, eggs over easy, and bacon waiting at the table. Harley turned from the refrigerator, orange juice in hand. "I hope you don't mind pulp in your juice."

"I think I'll live." Jo whistled as he looked over the feast. "Man, you're fast. I had no idea we got married last night."

Harley laughed, and it was real- Jo could tell from the way his eyes turned up at the edges- and poured the juice into what was probably the only two matching glasses in the house. "Well, you'll have a busy day, and from what I can tell, you're not very good at nourishing yourself appropriately. Perhaps I'll cook dinner tonight. If a bit of dairy-free pancake mix impresses you, you'll be amazed at what I can do with a chicken."

"Good goddamn." Jo slid into one of the two stools and took up his fork. He had enough manners to wait for Harley to join him, but not by much, and he started to shovel it down the moment Harley's backside touched the seat. Harley giggled again, and took a long sip of his orange juice.

"You know, you surprised me this morning as well. I wouldn't have thought a man who smokes as much as you do could sing so well." Jo lifted his head and tried to say 'what?' but couldn't around a mouthful of pancake and boysenberry jelly. Harley chuckled. "In the shower. I could hear you. Your singing voice, it's quite nice."

Jo swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Oh." He looked down at his plate. "Sorry, man. I'll be quieter tomorrow."

"It's not a problem. You might even inspire Haku, if you sing something more melodic; I haven't heard him sing yet, not once." Harley cut off a little triangle of pancake with his fork, and Jo lowered his brow.

"I'll, uh, learn some new songs, yeah?" He chuckled, and scooped up some of his eggs.

The rest of breakfast was marked with pleasant conversation, but Jo didn't lift his head to meet Harley's eyes once. He hadn't thought of what he was getting into, but a mouthful of bacon could blow off any doubts he might have had, at least for the moment.

* * *

Jo walked his bike on one side, and Harley walked on the other, Haku in hand. "So, why's the bird coming with you?" Jo squinted at the covered cage, sure the bird was leering back out of it at him through the sheet.

"He seems to have some sort of attachment difficulties." Harley gave the cage a rub. "I tried to leave him at the shelter the first day I found him, secured in Father Steele's office to keep him away from anyone who might do him harm, but shortly after I left, he started to throw an awful tantrum." Harley cupped a hand over his mouth to giggle. "Feathers everywhere, fecal matter on the good Father's paperwork, screeching his lungs off, the poor thing. Father Steele called me and demanded I take him to a veterinarian, but the moment Haku saw me, he calmed, unruffled his feathers, and greeted me, as pleasant as you please." He gave the cage another stroke. "So, for the good of society, I bring Haku with me."

"Oh, brother." Jo chuckled, and stopped near the door of the shop. "As long as he doesn't shit in the computer, we're golden." He stepped back. "Here's your stop, man. Let me know when the computer's done, and hey, give me a shout if you wanna meet for lunch, I can mostly set my own schedule."

"That'll be lovely." Harley took out his flip-phone and slid the keyboard out. "Let me put your number in my contacts."

They exchanged numbers, and Harley offered Zack a polite greeting as he brushed past. Zack sneered, then called out to Jo: "Hey, now I get it! I had no idea  _he_  wet your fuckin' whistle!" Zack put a finger in his cheek into a round lump, and popped it out. "Or maybe the other way 'round?"

"Fuck you, man, I ain't gay. Ain't a dude fuckin' allowed to have dude friends? Jesus!" Jo sniffed, and slung his leg up over the seat of his bike. "You don't have sports buddies and call that gay."

"Yeah, you're real fuckin' buddy-buddy with a dude you just met." Zack snickered, and Jo grunted and snapped his helmet on.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off, Zack." He looked up to the second floor window, and saw Harley peer down at him through blinds parted between his long, thin fingers. Jo could see a little smile on his face. He felt weirdly warm at the sight, even as Harley dropped the blinds closed again. "Maybe I'm just happy to have a friend." The blinds flew wide open when Jo put one of his earbuds in and turned the shuffle on his uPod on. Harley waved from his window as the music came on, and Jo hopped up onto his bike.

_ "I can tell that we are going to be friends..." _

This, Jo thought as Harley saw him off, was kind of nice. Someone who gave back as good as he got? That was practically fairy tale stuff to Jo, and he kind of liked it. Who knew that he could take someone home and really, genuinely want to keep them there?

Not him, that was for damn sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is "We Are Going To Be Friends" by The White Stripes.


	5. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo runs these streets, in the literal sense. Except on a bike, because he's got places to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay on this! Life happens.
> 
> I've been meaning to ask: is anyone interested in seeing some context for some of the places the settings are based on? I could take some pictures and put them on my LJ, since I'm not using it for anything else. If you'd like that, comment or message me!
> 
> Also: we see one or two characters here who didn't get a name in the manga or anime, one more important than the other. That just means I get to make my very favorite name pun!

**5: A Day In the Life**

Jo felt his cell buzz in his pocket just as he pulled up outside of West Side headquarters, and whipped his phone out to check the message.

_"Jo, need to meet in person. In my office, ASAP. K WS"_

Wasn't that just like Ken? Three years, and he still had to sign it like Jo had forgotten who he worked for. Jo shoved his phone away with a chuckle, put his bike on the rack beside two matching bikes, and hung his helmet on the handlebars, then chained it. West Side HQ was an unassuming, brick-faced little townhouse down on the southeast end of Little Shangri-La. Jo could see the water from the top floor, and even better from the rooftop deck that they used for company parties. Jo pushed the door open and entered the office. All three secretaries were on the phone, but one of them waved to him as he passed. He waved back and grinned- they were nice ladies, a little older, and most of them pretty well tattooed. He could see a spider tattoo on the senior secretary's neck as he circled to the stairs, and wondered which gang mark she had covered with that.

Second floor was off-limits, since Ken and Lily had to live somewhere, but the third floor held Ken's office. Jo bypassed another "off-limits" door and shoved the office door open.

"Mornin', Kenny."

"Just a second," Ken grumbled, waving over his shoulder but not lifting his head. Jo could never quite figure Ken out, so he thought as Ken dug through his desk drawer for something or other. The man dressed like he was going to the office in a wrinkled button-down and tie, but he usually had the sleeves rolled and the tie off and slung over the back of his chair after an hour for when he needed to help out in the warehouse. He didn't seem to bother to comb his hair, either, and Jo could never tell when he'd last gotten it cut. It was close to the same shade of red as his, but not nearly as well-cared-for. The desk wasn't cared for all that well either, worse than Father Steele's and stacked high with sloping mounds of paperwork, except for a big bare spot where his computer usually sat. Jo didn't give Ken grief about appearances, or anything, really- under his gruff outside, he was probably the nicest guy Jo could think of. Every single employee but Ken himself was an ex-con, and Ken seemed to forgive nearly every little crime committed under his watch after a minute of grief. Jo had shown up hung over or sometimes still drunk, and Ken would chew him out for ten seconds then send him right back out to work. There had been arguments with customers, and Ken would hear the customer out, hear the courier's side of the story, and decide  _fairly-_  yeah, really!\- and stand by the courier if it was the customer's screw-up or misunderstanding. Jo would even begrudgingly admit to liking the guy. He hadn't even been kidding when he said he didn't want to work for anyone else.

It's not like there was no way to get fired. There were two. The first was perched on one of Ken's filing cabinets with a tablet in hand, making music and electronic pings and squeals as she tapped and slid her way through some childish game. Lily, fifteen and silly, was never too far away from Ken, and always impeccable in appearance. Her orange hair was combed, sometimes even curled, and pinned back, her clothes clean and pressed. Jo half-wondered why she was never in school, but hell, who was he to judge? When he was her age, he'd been waiting for his trial. School had been a distant, fuzzy memory by then. Ken had said something about "satellite homeschooling," and he sometimes mentioned needing to get out of the office to drive her to the school, so Jo figured she did some classes online and went to school for others. Jo couldn't possibly know what the deal was, but he knew that she was one of Ken's hot buttons. Day one, one of the other couriers had grabbed him, pointed at the then twelve-year-old perched on one of the receptionist's desks with a bottle of nail polish, and told him:

"Listen, dude, she's an idiot and a pest, but the only reason you got this job is 'cause the last guy fucked with her. Called her a baby, made her cry. Never, ever, ever, ever,  _ever_  fuck with Lily. Don't tease her, don't mock her, for fuck's sake, don't  _flirt_  with her even if it's a joke, because if she goes crying to big bro, you're done."

Jo took the hint, and even now, put on a polite grin when the tablet emitted a cheering sound effect, and clapped. "Nice job, princess, what level are you on?"

"Ninety-seven." Lily beamed, then looked right back down. "I always get stuck on ninety-eight, though."

"Hm, lemme see." Jo held his hand out. "I'm pretty good at those games."

Ken whipped his head up, brow furrowed. "Lily, study time." Lily moaned and hopped off the desk, and dragged her feet out of the office, past Jo.

"Later, Jojo."

"Yeah, yeah, later." Jo chuckled and shook his head. Her voice was pitchy and nasal, she wasn't terribly bright, and she got in Ken's way, but if he could hate Lily for any one thing, it was that she had spread that awful nickname around the office, and now, everyone but Ken used it. Jo stuffed his hands down into his pockets and waited for Ken to finish what he was doing.

"What're ya lookin' for?"

"Eh, someone called about an issue with us getting to the courthouse on time, and without my goddamned computer, I can't just pull up the scanned manifest." He grunted, and glowered up at Jo. "Where's my computer? I told you to sit on 'em."

"I texted you, remember? We had some trouble getting parts. Half of the thing's insides were burnt out." Jo folded his arms, and Ken scratched his head.

"Huh. Yeah, I remember that now." Lucky him, Ken trusted him without checking. It was a good reason not to bullshit him unless he had to- he never wanted to give Ken a reason _not_ to trust him. "Okay, but will it be done today?"

"Yeah, Harley said it's at the top of his list. He'll call me-"

"Harley. Thought it was Doug. New tech?"

"Nice guy. Smart. You'd like him."

"Hm." Ken's brow furrowed, like he wasn't so sure, but Jo knew better. Ken was a little weird like that: he didn't seem all that welcoming. Jo still remembered meeting him:

_It was in Yana's office. He'd worn a borrowed sport jacket that Yana had shoved into his hands after she spotted him come in wearing sneakers and one of his usual tees, whimpered, and vanished down the hall. The jacket was one size too big, and reeked mildly like the fragrance desk at a Wal-mart. Yana had been forced to coerce him into writing a résumé, because he had next to nothing to put down other than his GED and special skills, which Yana read over, turned pink, and promptly erased. Ken had walked in, looked him over once, then looked down at the paper in his hand, which was decidedly not his résumé. "Joel Sha. Resisting arrest, assault with a deadly weapon, felony property damage- quite a record, plus you got off easy. You're wearing my friend Dan's best jacket, and you can't lie about that, since I don't know anyone else under thirty who wears knock-off Cool Water. There's mud on your pants. You're uneducated, you don't have a driver's license, and you have zero work experience. My name is Kenneth Maoh." He held a hand out. "Tell me why I should hire you."_

_Joel squinted at him, then nervously shook his hand. "Uh, I'll do whatever you tell me to because I really, really need a job."_

_"Alright." Ken dropped his hand, but put on a small, confident smile. "Screw around, and you're on your ass. Just, before you agree, there's just two big rules: first, you make my sister cry, I hurt you, and second-"_

"-Anyway, I called you in because of the DND list. I have to add to it." Jo broke out of his own head when Ken finally spoke again.

"More DNDs?" Jo sighed and whipped his phone out. "Gimme their contact info." Ken handed him a handwritten list, crooked, as Ken had clearly been on the phone with one hand while taking it down with the other, and Jo started to type the information in. Jo knew one of the other delivery guys had gotten the ax for taking a call from a DND just the other day, so he really should have expected this. Ken had a very strict Do-Not-Deliver policy, and a great long list of Do-Not-Deliver names and numbers. He refused delivery to anyone who might have remotely been involved with organized crime, and since he was the first to talk to any new customer, he got to decide whether to add them to the list. This was pretty common with couriers, as it stood, since making a delivery to a criminal or for a criminal could be construed as "aiding and abetting," or even "collusion," but plenty of these people tried to call couriers by their direct numbers. Jo was used to this, he even had regulars call him directly sometimes, but if he didn't recognize the name, he had to stop and check the list. The real problem was that Ken did all of his hiring straight out of prison, and if a guy took a DND delivery, that usually meant he was getting involved again, or at least Ken would assume as much. That was the bottom line- you made a delivery to a DND, you were out. Pretty good incentive not to do so, since most of the guys on parole had to keep up steady employment, and for them, getting fired was a very quick way to end up back in a cell. After giving it a good, thorough double-check, Jo handed the list back. "Got it, man."

"Good. It's for your own protection, anyway." Ken sighed and sank back down into his chair. "Uh, K-1's got a package, and Father Steele gets pissy if we send anyone but you. Got a couple other things that need pick-up, too. Aretha'll text you as it comes in. Oh, and when my computer's ready, come get a car. We should have a spare today, or I'll loan you mine."

"You got it, boss!" Jo grinned, and Ken smiled back, the same timid smile Jo always got out of him, and rushed back out of his office and down the steps.

Yeah, he liked Ken. He couldn't think of a better guy to work for.

Four rented parcels in a storage center three blocks down acted as their warehouse. Ken parked the company vans there overnight, and any packages had to stop there to have their paperwork scanned at the computer set up there. Yakim was at the desk today with a glass of tomato juice (hopefully just tomato juice) and a bottle of aspirin. Jo whistled as he walked past him, because he could still smell the stink of vodka on him. "You too drunk to drive, man? It's nine-fifteen already."

"Kenny said-" Yakim swallowed twice, then took a gulp of tomato juice, then gasped, flecks of red spattering the papers in front of him. "Kenny said to sober up, there were no trips scheduled for me yet. He said he'd send one of the girls over when I got myself together."

"Yakim, dude, I know it ain't my place, but you gotta watch that shit." Jo rolled his eyes, and slid the papers out from under his hand. "Even Ken's gonna run out of 'walk it offs' one'a these days." He smeared the spit off the page and wiped his hand on his pants. "Looks like I got the good Father's monthly run 'o paper supplies first. You know where it ended up?"

Yakim didn't, but Jo knew what the package looked like and found it on the shelf. The overnight guys did a pretty good job of keeping things organized, which Jo was grateful for, because he didn't think he'd ever get the way they coded some of the boxes. He strapped the package onto the back of his bike- it was big, but it was hardly fifty pounds, and Ken had gotten some monster-tough bikes with rear racks that could hold that much and two more just the same if you could fit them on there- strapped his helmet on, popped his earbuds in, and zipped out into the city.

Jo knew little Shangri-La like the back of his hand, maybe even the palm. His lifeline and heart line might as well have been bonded by First and Roosevelt, the scar below his pinky finger kin to Founder's Park west of the elementary school, the rings around his wrist echoed the jagged shipping docks along the north coast of the bay, down to the curve of the Washington highway, as long as his lifeline and fanning out into the whole map. He hardly had to think about where to go. His feet pumped the pedals like pistons, he would swear he was breaking the speed limit if there weren't cars still zipping past him. The noise of the city still echoed through his ears and around the guitars blaring out the refrain of "Got the Life," ears tuned for every squealing tire, each blare of a truck's horn, even police sirens. It was thanks to this acute hearing that he knew exactly when to raise his middle finger and in which direction, because he had places to be.

This time, Jo didn't stop in the front hall of K-1 and yell, but pushed right through to the sanctuary. There were a few drifters still hanging around, gathering their things for a day of panhandling or whatever it was they did when they weren't taking up space in the shelter. Jo knew that Father Steele arranged for employment assistance and social workers to come visit, but some of those guys in the shelter were too far gone to look for help, too crazy, too depressed, just too used to the life to try to change. Jo kind of understood that, so he didn't mess with any of the folks still slumped over their benches, and instead raised a hand.

"Yo, Padre!" He weaved around someone stumbling into him, as Steele, propped against the back wall near the television, looked up from his newspaper.

"You know, for most, it's 'Good morning, Father Steele,' 'Have a blessed day, good Father,' 'Greetings, sir,' what the fuck makes you so damn special?" He slapped the newspaper down on the back of the sofa as Jo dug in his backpack for the paperwork.

"'Cause I don't bullshit you, old man." He passed him the manifest, and Steele scoffed as he took it and signed it. Jo smirked, and doubled down: "And you love it."

Steele rolled his eyes and thrust the manifest back out at him. "Whatever." Jo chuckled and tore the customer copy off the top. He started to turn, but caught sight of a pair of big, bright, sparking brown eyes gazing at him over the back of the sofa.

"Hey there, shorty, what can I do for ya?" Jo grinned, as Gage sat up.

"My name's not shorty, beanpole!" Gage stuck his tongue out at him, and Steele sighed.

"I suppose I never formally introduced you two. Gage, the delivery boy-"

"Courier," Jo interjected.

"-is Joel."

"My name's Gage Summers." Gage held his hand out over the back of the sofa, and Jo shook it.

"Good manners, kid."

"Yeah, Dad told me I couldn't talk to you 'cause you were a stranger, so now you're not a stranger anymore!" Gage beamed, big and bright and genuine, just like the rest of him.

Steele sniffed and planted an elbow on Gage's shoulder to sit him down on the couch. "Gage has been... curious about you for some time. I suppose you met inadvertently last night, so there's no point in keeping him from being a pain in your ass. Take it away, Gage." Steele stepped back, just as a teenaged girl wearing a Volunteer sticker came and cleared her throat.

"Phone call, sir." Gage gawked at the girl, who'd said 'sir' in the way Jo called cops 'sir,' goggle-eyed for a moment, as Steele followed her to his office, and Jo took a look at her stern, sloped forehead and neat little pigtails as she passed by, before looking back to Gage.

"Gotcha little girlfriend, kiddo?" Jo smirked, and Gage turned pink and shot right back up over the back of the couch.

"Do not!"

Jo chuckled, and prodded the hot red spots on Gage's face. "Ooh, your mouth says no, but your cheeks say yes."

"Shut up!" Gage brushed him off and hunkered down against the back of the couch into folded arms. Jo chuckled and ran a hand back through his hair.

"So, didja have a question for me, kid?"

"Oh, um, uh-huh!" Gage jumped off the sofa and circled around it. "I wanted to know-" He reached out and took a strand of Jo's hair. "How's it like this?"

"Eh?" Jo got jerked down as Gage wrapped his hair around his hand. "Jeez, kid, leave off, it's attached!"

"So, it's real, but I've never seen hair like this before! It's so red-" Jo felt a cold spot in his gut, until Gage stopped his wonderment and continued, "S'like apples, or strawberry syrup, and those cinnamon candies at Number-1 China."

"My hair ain't food!" Jo peeled Gage's hand off. "Goddamn monkey, you don't grab at people like that!"

"Oh!" Gage let go, and pressed his hand over his mouth. "M'sorry. I was just so curious."

"My hair's red 'cause someone else before me had red hair, okay?" Jo folded his arms. "Just like you got brown hair 'cause someone before you had brown hair."

"Yeah, but everyone's got brown hair. Yours is cool, and special, and I thought you were cool." Gage crossed his arms and rocked from foot to foot. Jo took it in, and smirked.

"Kid, I am the coolest guy you know now. S'got nothin' to do with my hair." He reached out and set a hand on his hair, and Gage grinned and bowed his head. "Tell ya what, me an' Harl, we'll come an' visit ya tonight. Show you just how cool I am."

"Harl's with you?" Gage gasped with glee. "Dad said Harl might not come back!"

Jo didn't have time to puzzle on this, but grinned at Gage all the same. "Well, sure, Harl's gonna come back, he's your buddy, right? He's gonna help you with your homework, and we can play some games and stuff. I know a bunch'a games! Plus, if your Dad says it's okay-" He stopped, dropped to a crouch, dropped to a whisper, and leaned close to Gage's ear. "I know this real cool place, the Golden Monkey Arcade. Perfect for monkeys like you. They got games and a jungle gym and the best pizza in town. If your Dad says it's okay, me an' Harl'll take you sometime!"

"Take him where?" Jo jumped to a stand again- he hadn't heard Father Steele come back. His arms were folded tight, his eyebrow frozen in a raise. Jo recovered with a grin.

"Just this place I know. You'll like it, I promise!"

"Who was on the phone?" Gage tiptoed closer. "Was it-"

"You know exactly who it was." Steele pinched his sinuses, until the volunteer girl appeared at his shoulder again.

"Sir, Father Jenning's called back."

"I don't care." He whipped around and glowered at her, and she stared, bored, back at him. "I am busy. I have a shelter to run."

"He'll ask when he can call back."

"Tell him I'll be available when the Pope converts." The volunteer girl raised one eyebrow, but shrugged and turned back for the office. Gage, who had stuttered and stammered into his own hands, jumped up and waved at her back.

"Hi, Sana!" The volunteer girl turned without missing a beat.

"You've said that already this morning. Don't you have to get ready for school?" She whirled back around without breaking her stride, and Gage cringed. Jo chuckled and patted his back.

"Older women, huh?"

Steele sniffed. "Sana Van. Volunteer. Where are you taking Gage?"

"Oh!" Jo chuckled nervously as Steele stared him down again, his shoulders drawn back as far as the starch in his cassock allowed. "Just this arcade I know. Maybe sometime?"

"We'll see." Steele calmed, and grabbed the collar of Gage's oxford. "Go get your shoes and your bag, and you'd best not forget your homework, because Heaven help me, that is not a phone call I am going to answer." He released Gage with a push, and Gage tottered off to find his shoes.

"Later, Jojo!" He beamed, and Steele whirled back to Jo.

"And don't you have more work to do?"

"Well, yeah, but refresh my memory." Jo smirked, more than a little curious. "Father Jenning? I think I've heard the name."

Steele's eyes and nostrils thinned to slits. "You should. He's a world-famous geneticist, and a priest to boot. He's turned down a dozen offers for a promotion to cardinal, but he still preaches on Sundays and teaches as a professor at Harbor-"

"Wait, Ken Jennings?"

"Neil."

"Thinkin' of the wrong guy." Jo grinned. "I'm thinkin' of that Jeopardy guy." Father Steele held a groan behind clenched teeth.

"Moron."

"So, if he's so famous, why don'cha take his call? I mean, you let my ass in-"

"You're actually useful to me." Steele folded his arms tight. "Unlike Jenning, I'm content with my station. Last I spoke with him, he was babbling nonsense about a full scholarship to study philosophy or whatever I wanted, that he'd pay my way to a Master's in theology, but I'm not interested." Steele fished into the pocket of his cassock for a cigarette, his eyebrows grinding together like his teeth. "Besides all that, he gives Gage the creeps."

"Well, yeah, duh." Jo snorted. "Gage is twelve, and he's a Catholic priest, and-"

The snub-nosed Smith and Wesson Jo had seen last night was pressed to his nose, and Steele hadn't even stopped searching for a smoke. "Finish that sentence." Jo swallowed every single word he'd been thinking of; his heart had skipped a beat or six.

After a long, deliberate pause where the muzzle lingered on Jo's chin, Steele put the gun up, and Jo croaked, "Why you even have that thing?"

"It's fucking Chance Harbor. I'm not walking out the door unprotected." He tucked the gun into a holster on his belt just as Gage returned, backpack strapped on, shoes tied. "Let's go." He took Gage by the forearm, and gave Jo one last withering look. "Don't you have work to do? I thought keeping your job kept you on the street." He found a cigarette along with his car key, and Jo groaned and moved for the door.

"Kenny won't know I was just talking with you. But yeah, yeah, see you later. I'll bring Harley; someone needs to do the chimp's homework."

"Hey!" Gage stomped his feet indignantly, and Jo chuckled.

"Nice talkin', monkey." He left the same way he came, through the faint musk of unwashed bodies and around limp panhandlers slumping in the same general direction.

After that, it was back to the garage and out on the streets again. He tried to avoid highways and major streets, and by now, he knew when the side streets were busiest. He could keep the tally in his head- Finnegan's over on Lincoln got deliveries on Mondays and Thursdays at eleven, the furniture store on Second sent out a whole fleet of trucks around two, so on and so forth, making it easier for him to dodge around them or find other routes. He was mostly okay with riding alongside cars, and he always waited for the "walk" signs at crosswalks, even when he was on his bike. He knew the risk he ran, pedaling his ass off next to roaring steel monsters. After a few years of it, though, the honking had stopped bothering him. He just cranked the music and pedaled a little faster.

It was after three trips back and forth that his phone buzzed in his back pocket, and Harley had sent the message,  _"Your computer is ready. Would you like to have lunch with me?"_

Jo grinned, and pedaled to the metal. It was weird, actually looking forward to lunch. Lunch for him was usually whatever he felt like grabbing off the rack at Royal Farms, eaten between red lights and walk signs or hunkering down in a public park. Now, he had an excuse to stop and taste what he was putting in his mouth. He zipped back towards the warehouse, texting Ken with one hand without taking his eyes off the road:

_"Comp done need car Jo"_

He kept his head ducked low as he pulled into the space in front of the shop. He wasn't bad at parallel parking, more embarrassed than anything. Ken's delivery sedan was, for lack of a better word, kind of ugly. Maroon, with black stripes on the rear side walls? It was something out of the 90's, and Ken wasn't  _that_  much older than Jo. He still had to jump out and ignore a few snickers from Zack as he paid with a company check, then went up to the office just as Harley came to the door with the computer in his hands.

"You put that down, you're still busted up." Jo took it off his hands with ease, and Harley turned to turn off his radio when his hands were free. Jo didn't recognize the music- though he was sure he'd heard banjos- but offered Harley a peacemaking grin all the same. "Hey, you could'a left it on."

"Ah. Well." Harley cleared his throat. "Why don't you load the computer into your car?"

"I'd rather eat first, not leave it out there, y'know?" He jerked his head back behind him to indicate Zack. "Did'ja wanna go to Royal Farms, or-" There was a mechanical ping from under one of the tables, and Harley ducked down to open a microwave Jo had never noticed under the table.

"My apologies- nobody  _enjoys_  reheated lunches- but it's as close to fresh as I can offer today." Harley held out a plastic-wrapped plate with a smile, and Jo just gawked. It looked like a regular family dinner, just like in a happy kid's movie where the family, mom, dad, and kids, gather around three-course plates and laughs and smiles before the dog runs away and the actual plot of the film starts.

"When'd you have time to fix all this?" Jo took the offered plate and pulled the plastic off, then took a big whiff. Teriyaki stir-fry. Glorious. Better than Golden Bowl, for damn sure.

"Ah, it's leftovers." Harley set an identical plate on a cleared space on his workbench. "From two nights ago, to be honest." His smile looked sheepish under his glasses. "Father Steele lets me use the kitchen for myself once in a while, so I'll just make a few days' worth of food at once and keep it all here." He passed Jo a fork. "If I make a lot, I'll even put it into lunches for Gage sometimes."

"Jesus." Jo scooped up some of the chicken and rice. It tasted exactly as good as it looked; gave him the warm fuzzy feelings like the end of the movie when the family dog runs up the driveway and jumps into the kid's arms. "Does he pay you?"

"No, it's a favor. Gage will never grow taller eating nothing but peanut-butter and banana sandwiches."

"Christ." He shook his head in disbelief. "You do this for free."

"Ahaha." Harley sat with his plate, turned the chicken over into the rice. "I enjoy it. It's a release for me, yes?"

"Mmh." Jo couldn't debate any further with a mouthful of chicken, sauce, rice, and broccoli. Amazing. He couldn't remember the last time he had a real, home-cooked meal like this.

Leaving to return the computer to the office was like dragging lead weights with each step, but Harley waved him off with a smile, which made his feet a little lighter.

"I'll see you tonight, Joel."

Yeah. He'd see him that night. That was a pretty good reason to get through the rest of the day.

He stopped at the Ace on Cleveland and grabbed a surge protector out of the dollar bin, and hooked up the computer in Ken's office around Lily's legs swinging off the side while telling Ken what Harley had said:

"It was probably 'cause of that storm the night before, lightning caused a surge and fried your computer's guts. This'll keep that from happening again." He came up from under the desk, tossed his hair back, and dug in his pocket for the receipt. Ken took it and the carbon-copy of the check, and whistled.

"I think I like the new tech. Works cheaper than Go ever did." Ken turned his computer on, and smiled when the monitor blinked to life. "Faster than before. If I ever need a full-time IT guy, I know who I'm calling. Next you see him, pass on my gratitude."

"You got it." Jo smirked. He didn't even do anything, and he was on the receiving end of Ken's good mood. How cool was that?

After that, he got sent on a subpoena delivery. Those were always a pain. Subpoenas meant he had to go into the business district of the city. The business center of Chance Harbor was way off from Little Shangri-La and just as far away from Jo's comfort zone. Maybe it was zoning, because the business district towered sky-high over the surrounding urban sprawl, and Jo didn't really like heights, but it shone silver and reflected the sun, gold, against a steamy gray sky. If the smog ever cleared, it might look nice, but everything inside of it put him off his feed. Chance Harbor was a major shipping port and a hub of international trade, central to rail trading, air transport, river trade, and major highways: imports rolled out, money rolled in. Trouble was, it all rolled into the pockets of the slick-haired fatcats who holed up in these shiny buildings day in and day out. Someone had once told him that when Chance Harbor was founded back in the fifties, the warehouses and cheap apartment complexes in Little Shangri-La were all factories and offices that got their fair share of the take, but as the city grew wider and the business district crystallized in the middle, the money got sucked to the center like a magnet. Jo didn't even know what the people in the middle did with all the money they were hoarding. It seemed like all they ever did was rake in the dough and sue each other, and he only ever got involved in the latter. It's not like it mattered- he still got paid at the end of the week no matter who won in court- but the business district was always crowded with shiny black and silver cars driving way too fast and it was harder to see around corners when there were silvery skyscrapers in your way. Even worse, the second he got to the building and explained why he was there with the reminder that he was just the messenger, folks started getting snippy and pissy with him. Well, at least they were acknowledging that he existed. Nice to know they could see something that wasn't their own reflections.

The secretary took the papers- they usually did, since being in default was a lot more trouble than just going to court- and Jo had to wait through her sniffing as she made a copy of the date-stamped paper so he could prove it was received. Still, better than fucking up, because if he fucked up on service, then he ran the risk of not getting his paycheck at the end of the week, and that'd give him even more reason to be jealous of the assholes in pinstripes in the upper levels of the building. He didn't want to hate the secretaries, since they were probably workaday gals like the receptionists at the office, probably didn't make much more than he did, but because they were here and not from his quarter of the city, she made no secret of how little she thought of him, turning her nose up at him and refusing to make even a little conversation as she copied and stamped the paper. He could feel her glowering at him as he left, summing up his appearance, and he knew what he looked like. Moreover, he knew what he looked like to her: a dirty, long-haired punk in a worn-out tee who smelled like sweat and the city she and everyone like her shut out with reflective, silver and rose-tinted windows. He had to leave a trail of cigarette butts behind him just to make sure they got a little of the trash they eschewed.

Back to the office, and he had to take a few imports to the auto shops on the north side of the Little Shangri-La quarter, all loaded on the back of his bike. Damn, but did he feel strong unloading a stack of clanking metal when the guys taking the delivery had to take the boxes one at a time! He had no idea what they did with all those parts, but they paid, so he didn't ask. Ken would find out if it was anything uncool. He started to pedal back, crossing around the front of the shop as he put his bike in gear, but halted at the sound of squealing tires and a blaring horn.

"Watch where yer goin', dumbass!" The driver snarled out the window as Jo put the brakes on and veered into the brick storefront to keep from hitting the guy driving out, and Jo swore a few times and clenched his fists tight.

"Jesus fuckin'-" Jo exhaled to get it out of his system, then took out a fresh cigarette. He lit it, sucked the first rush of smoke down, and put his earbuds back in. He checked the time on his phone- not five yet? Damn it- and rode back to the office slowly.

He should have been used to close calls, but sometimes, being so close to the cars made him more than a little antsy. They were two-ton rolling death machines that people operated on autopilot, and if they were on rails like rollercoasters, that would have been okay, but he and a couple thousand pedestrians were wandering between them like ants around shoes, and sometimes he thought nobody even saw him.

Hell, that didn't even apply to just the cars.

Almost the second he stumbled back into the office, Aretha, with her spider tattoo, shoved a stack of papers into his hand and told him to scan his orders for the day to save her the trouble. He would have complained, but she looked like the kind of gal who would bite him in half and suck his guts out to feed her young if the mood took her, and hey, the work had to get done one way or another. He dragged around the office like a John Woo slo-mo scene, until he spotted the desk girls packing up and threw his last papers into the "To-File" box and shot a text to Ken: _"Jo checking out."_ Without a time clock, that was how Ken knew his hours. Some guys lied, but Jo knew better than to try that. Ken might've said there were only two rules, but how forgiving could one guy be?

His phone rang in his pocket the second the sole of his boot hit the sidewalk outside of Ken's rowhouse, and he flipped it right up to his ear with a trained, practiced, "You have reached West Side Deliveries. If it needs to go, Go West. You have reached us past our scheduled busin-"

"Joel?" That voice like syrup was tinny through the receiver, but Jo knew it already.

"Oh, Harl. Sorry, this is technically a work phone. Usually I only get calls from customers. Everyone else just texts" He knocked the kickstand on his bike back and hopped on. "What's up?"

"Ah, I wanted to ask if I could perhaps borrow your bicycle. It has such a lovely basket, I'm sure I could get a nice load of groceries in it."

"Weren'cha gonna help monkey-brains with his homework? For some reason, he thought you weren't comin' back."

Harley giggled. "He can wait an hour. He'll be happy to avoid it for a little longer anyway."

"Well, how 'bout I come with ya to the store? I'm, uh, a little protective of the bike." He patted the handlebar with his free hand, then kicked himself off the ground and turned the front wheel towards the computer shop. "'Sides, maybe I can make a few requests. Uh, you make real good teriyaki, you know how to do that beef and broccoli stuff, with the brown sauce?"

Harley laughed again, though Jo wasn't sure what was funny. "Oh, I can make whatever you'd like. I'll even make you some real Shangri-La cuisine."

"'Zat so?" Jo smirked, and pushed his earbuds back into his pocket. "What'cha talkin'? Sesame chicken? Mu shu pork?"

"Well, it depends on what part of Shangri-La you're talking about. Your Golden Bowl sounds like it bases its cuisine on that of the Hunan or Szechuan styles of the Chinese mainland, though I imagine it has some influences from the Korean or Mongolian regions. I imagine you'd fancy something from the Vietnamese districts. For myself, I deeply enjoy cuisine from the Japanese colony..." Harley continued on, and Jo licked his lips. Oh, did he have good things waiting for him. Not even just dinner. How long had it been since he looked forward to going home for more than just a night of television and drinking?

"... Will you be home tonight?" Harley's question held more unasked questions, and Jo near stopped dead.

"Huh?"

"You went out last night. Were you going out again tonight?" Even tinny and distorted, Jo could hear a wealth of concern and worry, and he got that flash in his mind of Harley, all alone in a tiny cell, hugging his knees...

"Nah, I don't need ta. Won plenty last night, y'know? How 'bout we watch a movie?"

"A movie? That would be lovely. I'll add popcorn to my list." All the worry was gone. Jo could hear that beaming smile across the airwaves.

It had been such a typical day, and yet not. One tiny change had made all the difference, and Jo could only dream that he could keep being this happy. Maybe if he forgot he was just supposed to be protecting Harley from the streets he rode, he could.


	6. Two Just the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with Harley is pretty okay, but it seems like something's always going wrong.

**6:**   **Two Just the Same**

Days with Harley passed quickly, or maybe Jo was only counting the time he could spend with Harley. Harley was really pretty amazing, in a weird way, and though Jo hadn't expected it to be hard, he had no idea just how great it could be.

Jo hadn't lived with anyone in years, but he figured it couldn't be too bad, and it really wasn't. Harley was, in a Harley word, unobtrusive. He was up and showered and dressed before Jo was even near done playing with the titty-shaped trees in his dreams, he made breakfast, lunch, and dinner (not to mention blowing Jo's tastebuds with every new recipe), and picking him up from work was right along his way anyway. The detour to the shelter was small potatoes, because Gage was a fun kid and Jo was getting to play a bunch of board games he remembered from his own childhood, and what the hell else was he doing to do with that time? Eat ramen, jack off, and play solitaire on his laptop until it was time to go to the bar? Yeah, sure, that's awesome, but that gets old after a while. Harley was a breath of fresh air.

Literally, too, since he'd cleaned Jo's trashy little studio, put ashtrays on nearly every solid surface and emptied them daily, and put out a little bottle of scented oil with reeds in it that made the place smell like soap. "Lychee-pomegranate," Harley called it. "Hey, the girls like the way I smell more," Jo had realized, and that was really pretty nice.

Then again, Jo wasn't seeing as much of the girls anymore. He'd cut his trips to Heavy Sands back to Wednesdays and only Wednesdays, for two reasons: first, he didn't like just how antsy he got leaving Harley alone in the house, and second, he was finally getting to watch all of his old movies.

"I'll usually just pop one in if I'm up at like two in the morning and don't feel like sleeping, but I'll fall in and out," he'd explained to Harley, as he pulled  _Bride of the Monster_ from the shelf and dusted it off. "So, it'll be great to really pay attention to some of these again. I mean, seriously, it's weird to think how many times I've watched  _Good Fences_ and missed that bit where the lady thinks the meat counter guy is barking at her. Funniest shit you can think of, and I'm just dozing on through." Harley giggled over the edge of his little notebook.

"I'm unfamiliar with that movie. Perhaps tomorrow?" He flipped the notebook open as Jo hit play.

That was just one of Harley's little quirks: he kept a small green notebook, as big as a spread hand, in his suitcase or messenger bag, and while Jo had a movie on, Harley would usually have it open in his hands and scribble away while the film ran.

"Y'know, if you wanna do somethin' else, I can entertain myself and you can write."

"Ah, does this bother you?" Harley was always on the nose with the things Jo didn't say and may not have meant. "I'm sorry." He closed the book. "I'm not especially the type to just watch, I rather like to do. I promise I'm listening quite closely, and my ears are much sharper than my eyes with these sorts of things." He put on a smile, and his fingers brushed the bottom of his cracked glasses lens. Jo swallowed; why did he feel like a jerk?

"Nah, man, you can write while we watch. Just, y'know, curiosity, what sorta stuff do you write?"

"Anything, really. It's a journal." Harley shrugged and opened the book again, ensuring the pages faced him. "I write poetry, mostly." His grin turned crooked, embarrassed. "It's not very good poetry, I don't think, but my therapist suggested it. It helps me get the tension out. I sometimes wonder if I wouldn't have made it out of the state asylum sooner if I'd had a decent outlet on the inside." All his little subconscious gestures froze, and he faced the page open in his hands. Jo wasn't sure what to say, until Harley offered: "It does make me feel better."

"You do you, man." Jo nodded, and hit play, and they watched in silence except for the scritch-scritch-scritch of Harley's pen against paper.

Some nights, they skipped the movie. They played cards a few times, but Jo got sick of losing fast. He could scarcely see past the smiles Harley put on, from disappointment at a bad hand to the confidence of a good one. Every time Jo thought he was catching on, Harley played turnabout and Jo would lose his stride. Then there were the nights Jo would play games on his laptop, Harley would read, and they'd play music on Jo's stereo. The music seemed to be one of the bigger points of contention, but neither of them ever mentioned it. Jo would just put on The Ramones or Dr. Dog, and after a few minutes, Harley would get up, plug his phone in, and switch over to Mumford and Sons on the internet station. Jo tolerated about ten minutes of Florence and the Machine or The Avett Brothers before he'd get up and switch to his CD again. They would go back and forth for two hours without actually saying a word about it, before Harley finally asked if he could put the news on TV and Jo plugged his headphones in. It was a little uncomfortable, but Jo would have been surprised if there were no tension at all, especially when it was someone as different as Harley.

Harley did have his quirks. There was the notebook thing. He still played turnabout with most of Jo's swears ("Oh, this goddamn thing!" "You probably ought to leave that sort of thing to the man upstairs, or He'll get angry you've taken His job.") and he seemed to ignore or laugh off some of Jo's bluntest statements. Harley might have been a fantastic chef, but how he knew it was a mystery, because he scarcely ate half of what was on his plate sometimes and let Jo nosh the rest and lick it clean when he was done. He always wore long sleeves, and Christ, it was in the eighties most days and humid, how the hell was he not sweating like a Baptist at a strip club? Jo never saw the skin under his clothes, either, not since he'd had to take them off to patch up his injuries. Jo also figured out he was uncomfortable with other people's bodies in the most awkward way possible.

The first Sunday morning they spent together, Jo woke to spinach and egg white omelets and Harley in a tie. "Father Steele's holding mass in an hour." Harley passed the pepper cracker from beside the stove (since Jo had a pepper cracker now, not to mention a new-found understanding of how delicious real, fresh-cracked pepper is) and took his place at the table. "Would you like to come?"

"Didn't know you were actually Catholic, man."

Harley tittered, the timbre of his voice shallow. "I'm not a very good one!" He laughed a moment longer, then sighed. "My question stands."

Jo considered it, then forked a few chunks of his omelet. "Think I'll skip it. I'll burn right up if I set foot in a sanctuary, y'know?" Harley hummed understanding, and Jo almost dropped his fork when he realized, "Wait, maybe I ought'a walk you over-"

"It's Sunday morning, and broad daylight. If anyone tries anything, they'll go straight to hell." Harley beamed, and Jo laughed so hard egg nearly came out of his nose.

So after receiving a (chirped) promise from Haku to behave while Harley was gone, and a frank but pleasant, "If I'm not back in two hours, call the police," Harley left. Jo put the dishes in the sink and got down to his own Sunday routine.

"Sorry, birdie." Jo tossed his shirt over Haku's cage, and got an indignant squawk. "It's about to get real loud in here."

Harley pushed the door open an hour and a half later, a brown grocery bag in one arm. He'd heard strains of "Master of Puppets" blaring from the speaker from down the hall, and spoke up when he pushed the door open: "Joel, I'm-" He trailed off, and Jo was in no position to look up and see the expression he donned.

Jo was balanced in a plank above the ground, on his toes and on one elbow, and in his free hand, he was rowing his ten-pound hand weight back behind his shoulder. He grunted with each rep, sweat rolling off of him. He'd long stripped his tank top off, his shorts had soaked through and started clinging to him, leaving his tanned, toned chest and defined back exposed, every taut muscle on his leg obvious. He finished the set, dropped the weight, and put his elbow down. He could feel every muscle in his forearm stinging but singing back to the beat, and enjoyed it for a moment longer before rolling over to a sit. Harley's glasses had slid all the way to the tip of his nose, and his jaw hung gracelessly open. "Yo! Didn't hear ya come in." Jo sat up and punched the power button on the radio, then grinned sheepishly at Harley in the stark quiet. "I, uh, I usually worship my own temple on Sunday mornings."

"I..." Harley couldn't make any other sound with his jaw hanging agape, and finally snapped it shut when he seemed to find something. "I see."

"Yeah, man, you gotta take care of yourself. Hey, you want me to teach you? You're kinda scrawny, y'know. Don't worry, I'll start ya off easy! Just body weight stuff." He demonstrated, and bent his knees and set his rear end back: "Squats-" He staggered his legs, hips forward and one leg back, and bent his knees: "Lunges-" He dropped to the ground, caught himself on his palms and toes: "Push-ups-" He jumped up to his feet with ease. "Maybe some baby dumbells for bicep curls and tricep kickbacks, just the little four-pounders to start. You'll feel awesome! Besides," Jo winked, "No offense, but it must be hard getting heavy computers up and down those stairs all day."

Harley's mouth seemed to be stuck open, and his usually pale complexion nearly matched the hue of Jo's hair. "I... I... I..."

"Uh, you don't have to." Jo pulled his sleep shirt off of Haku's cage and mopped his face dry. "You okay, dude?"

Harley forced his mouth shut and fixed his eyes to the ground. "I'm afraid I need another shower. Very humid in the sanctuary. Pardon me." He dropped the brown bag on the table and bolted for the bathroom, and Jo slicked some of the sweat from his hair and shrugged at Haku.

"Guess he doesn't like exercise."

Harley was in and out quickly, but remained just as red as he had been when Jo strolled in past him to take his shower. That was what had tipped Jo off- maybe it was that crazy Catholic repression, but Harley probably wasn't used to seeing other people's bodies. "Probably got his knuckles rapped real hard for just thinkin' about girls." Jo rubbed his chin. "Maybe the only other naked dude he's ever seen has been the one up on the cross." He figured Harley was lucky he'd stopped sleeping in the buff since he'd gone to prison, and made a mental note to try and keep more clothes on to help keep Harley from getting a nosebleed.

It was an adjustment, sure, but not a hard one or even a bad one. Plus, nobody had even come close to touching Harley in the two weeks since Jo started walking at his side.

Okay, there was the one time. They were walking home side by side on Friday evening, making quiet conversation. They'd stayed late to help Gage finish a project, so Jo was making sure to stay extra close. It was a foxy drawl that rang out from the shadows of a shuttered shop that brought them both to a stop.

"C'mere, Jojo, s'been ages!" Harley could see the chill run down the back of Jo's neck when a woman stepped from the shadows and slung an arm over his shoulders. He had to stifle a nervous laugh; he'd seen how Jo acted around some women, how he casually flirted with cashiers and tossed roguish winks at girls they passed on the street, but this was nothing like that. Jo was near-cowering with this woman, a few inches taller on her stilettos and a dressed a few degrees warmer, draping herself over him like a heavy scarf. She rubbed her cheek to his, and he released a peal of nervous laughter.

"M-Mercy!" He ducked out from under her and just behind Harley's shoulder, and planted a firm hand on Harley's collarbone to keep him in place, making the smaller, thinner man a human shield. Harley had to take her in under the flickering streetlight- she was very clearly dressed like she wanted people to look. Her hair was so slick and shiny, not an undulating lock out of place, but it didn't look oily or greasy. Her white halter dress was so sheer one could near see all the merchandise she was surely selling, but for a chunky, rhinestone-studded brown belt slung around her hips that prevented her from breaking public decency laws. Harley spied a few bills tucked into a halter around her thigh, in numbers he hadn't been aware were printed on paper money. Jo seemed to shrink further when she smirked at Harley, her voice all smoke and honey.

"Brought a friend tonight, Joey?"

"No, no no, no no no," Jo laughed again, high-pitched and anxiously, and swept a few wild strands of hair back behind his ear in his futile efforts to keep as much of himself as he could away from her. "Me and Harley here were just headed home-"

"Oh?" She pouted, and swaggered a step forward. "I had no idea you swung that way, Jojo. You know I can accommodate." Her wrist swung forward with the flow of her next step to take Harley's wrist and, on the back swing, touch his fingers just below her belt to find an unmistakable bulge. Jo flinched, but Harley hadn't recoiled in utter disgust. Instead Harley took flushing heat in his cheeks and returned her smirk with a polite smile.

"My, I can see how that would be accommodating." He gingerly retracted his hand, and took a further step to place himself between Jo and the woman- er, or was se?- then folded his wrists. "Have we met, Miss-"

"Mercy, darlin'." Se winked. "Remember it- I can make you scream it later." Jo wasn't sure Harley was blushing, but he was certain that if he could, he would be now.

"Watch yourself. You might'a guessed," Jo murmured into Harley's ear, "but the lovely Mercy here's a lady of the night."

"I'm not so naïve, Jo."

"Lady of the night?" Mercy cocked one saucy eyebrow in an elegant curve. "Honey, I am a  _goddess_  between the sheets." The limber curve of hir spine shifted to cock a broad hip out, hir breasts swayed with just the slight motion. "Only reason Jojo here can't tell you so is 'cause he's cheap." Se cocked her shoulder gracefully forward, her mouth in nibbling distance from his ear. "If you're lookin' for a date who'll actually take you places, you're lookin' at the wrong fella."

Harley couldn't smile any harder. "Oh, but I think I am." He crossed his arms. "After all, if I were looking to you, I'd have to take _you_ , wouldn't I?"

Se laughed, throaty and thick, pressing one hand over hir own heart to steady hirself. "You're as smart as you look, baby boy. I never pay for my own dates."

"I didn't think you would. Well, perhaps you pay in your ways." Harley smiled slyly- Jo could feel the shift in his stance as he steeled himself. "In bathrooms and ballrooms, on dumpsters or heirlooms, whatever their currency may be."

Mercy laughed again, but took a step back. "You a poet or something?"

"No, miss. But I've some interest therein. If you'll excuse us." Harley tugged Jo's arm, and skirted around the puddle of light occupied by the brazen woman and hir brassy, put-on drawl. Jo could still feel her binoculars-sharp gaze peeling layers of his clothes off, but felt the comfort of his jacket when Harley nudged his elbow to his arm. "And here I thought you were walking me home, Jo."

Jo laughed again, the hearty baritone Harley was accustomed to. "Well, uh, I guess we're walking each other home. Didn't know  _she'd_  be around, or anything." He glanced back, but Mercy was already moving in on a mousy-looking gray-hair in a suit way too nice for this part of town at this time of night. "She actually lives upstairs, so I see her around sometimes. She's harmless, y'know, doesn't bring pimps around, doesn't work with the gangs. She works for an escort agency, but if she's coming up short on something, she, uh, freelances."

"Freelances?" Harley heard a gasp, and his eyes flitted back to see Mercy pinning the gray mouse to the wall with a stiletto boot in the brick just above his waist, and se rolled hir hips forward in an unmistakeable come-on. Jo snuffed a chuckle, but put his arm around Harley's waist to goad him into walking a few paces faster.

"Well, s'what she calls it. You ask me, there ain't nothing free about it."

"Nothing's free, Jo." Harley's unnatural smile fell back into place, and Jo removed his hand from his hip.

"Well, anyway, she likes her work, so I can't object."

"You could." Harley folded his hands behind his back, and Jo groaned- Harley being 'obtuse,' whatever he'd called it, again. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He really was a damn mystery sometimes.

Maybe that was what made Jo walk just a step closer to Harley, not in contact but just enough to keep close. Mystery was interesting. Mystery was fun. Harley was definitely the former, and at least maybe the latter.

"Whatever you say, man." Jo grinned and lit up a Lucky, to a disapproving cough from beside him. That all brought it together- Harley taught him new words and new experiences, Harley changed up his routine, Harley was around. And really, despite the original reason Jo had taken him in, there was no trouble at all. A little bit of confusion and a crazy pro aside, no real trouble to speak of. Just a happy new routine.

Jo wanted to keep it that way. So, when Harley mentioned over the breakfast dishes, "I have a meeting this afternoon, so I'll be leaving work early," Jo's immediate response was:

"Where are you going? I'm coming with."

Harley blinked, taken aback. "I..." He hung his head, his palms edged up on the counter. "I have a meeting with my parole officer. I meet him every other week."

"Funny coin-ki-dink. I gotta meet my P.O. tonight too. What time?" Jo beamed, put the dishcloth down and whipped his phone out.

"It's at four-thirty. Zack lets me go at quarter of four, and I take the number six bus to First and Madison Street. Won't your boss mind you leaving so early?"

Jo sniggered, and programmed it into his phone. "You kiddin'? Ken lets me stay on the clock 'til my regular punch-out time for parole meetings. He says it's more important that I keep my ass out of trouble than he wring every red cent out of me. If I break parole, he's down a man."

"A wise decision." Harley nodded and smiled, a warm expression coloring his cheeks. "Thank you, Joel." He gathered up the garbage and ventured into the hallway as Jo mimed taking up the dishcloth again, but as the door shut, Jo flipped his phone open and dialed the number at the bottom of his contacts.

"Mornin', Yana. It's Joel, Joel Sha. Listen, I've had something crazy come up on Thursday, is there any way you can move our meeting up to today? I'm real sorry 'bout the sudden change- you got anything around four-thirty, five?" He wiped his brow and did the math in his head on the bus. "I can make four-fifteen. Yeah, no, it's nothing stupid. Just, I can't make Thursday, and I'm busy Wednesday. No, I ain't gonna do anything stupid on Wednesday! I'll explain when I get there. I gotta run." He hung up and quickly texted Ken about the schedule change, and started drying the dishes just as Harley returned from the compactor.

"My, you'd best hurry. Don't spend the whole morning on that one plate." Harley giggled and took the dried plates from off the counter. Jo just chuckled nervously.

"Well, with the good food you put on it, gotta be sure it's clean, right?" He ignored the chime of his phone receiving a text, as Ken surely was confirming that Jo could go to his meeting without incident.

That evening, Jo met Harley outside of the computer shop like always, and ignored the mock blow-job Zack gave an invisible dick as he hung his helmet on his bicycle's handle and carried it up the steps. "I'm gonna shove my bike in your office, alright? I'll just pick it up in the morning." He carried the bike in, flipping Zack off with the hand facing him as he ascended the stairs and chained the bike to the support beam behind one of the desks. Harley waited, hands twisted in front of his hips, as Jo descended. "Let's head out." He grinned and took a bottle of water from his backpack. "Here, you thirsty?"

"No, thank you." Harley and Jo departed side by side, both ignoring the lewd moans Zack let out behind them.

Jo nursed the water bottle the whole bus ride over, over typical pleasantries about how their days had gone, and as they disembarked, Harley had to ask: "That's not alcohol, is it?"

"Oh, hell no!" Jo guffawed, and held the open bottle out under Harley's nose. "Plain water." He took another sip. "See, I gotta take a piss test. 'Nother part of my parole, no illicit substances, nothing I'm not prescribed. And I don't. Just, they watch me." His eyebrows bounced up, but his smile was uneasy. "I can't piss while someone's starin' at me, so it helps if I really, really gotta go."

"Ah." Harley's lips quirked up as well. "Mind if I take a swallow?"

"Oh, they test you, too?" Jo passed the bottle and Harley took a long sip.

"They do. But not for illicit substances. They have to ensure I'm on my prescribed medications." Harley passed the bottle back. "My psychiatrist forwards them a list of what I must take, and they test for certain chemicals that they leave behind. If I do not take my medication..." Harley trailed off, voice distant even when he picked up again. "... I take my medication voluntarily. I'm not one of those who does not believe I am unwell."

"I get ya, man." Jo took another gulp, then passed the bottle to Harley. "So, what're ya on? And if you don't want to answer-"

"Anti-psychotics, antidepressants, and lithium. I occasionally take medicine for my insomnia, but it's over-the-counter."

"Insomnia?" Jo felt his shoulders drop; he slept like a baby most nights, he hadn't noticed that Harley wasn't doing the same. Harley patted Jo's arm.

"I do sleep, but some nights, I simply can't."

"Yeah?" Jo hunched his neck forward. "Well, you wake me up if you wanna talk about it, dude. I'm not your therapist or nothin', but what're friends for?" He pushed the revolving door, and led the way into the Madison Correctional Building.

Various elements of the city's correctional department were all housed in this single, sprawling complex. There was a lab in the basement, a large chunk of police administration in the middle, parole and probation offices on the upper floors, and the ground floor served as booking for new guests of the state prison system. Jo always joked to himself that the receptionist could just as easily jump out of her chair and throw the cuffs on him if he was a minute late. Instead, she continued to file her nails as Jo and Harley signed in, and she checked their names on the schedule.

"Sha, you better get running to that basement." She squinted at him over her desk and from under her beehive hairdo, and he saluted because good goddamn this little old lady could ruin his life.

"Yes'm!"

Four-fourteen, he was right on time for the lab tech to hand him a cup. He could hear the tech thanking Harley for making it in early behind him, and refused to look at the stall next to his when Harley entered. He didn't hear anything for a moment, only felt the tech's eyes on his back, and whispered after a moment, "Think waterfall thoughts." Harley laughed, and Jo could hear him taking care of business. That was motivation enough.

They took the elevator to the ninth floor together, but parted ways where 901 through 906 diverted from 907 through 912. "Daniel is in 902."

"Yana's in 908." Jo scratched his head. "Well, I better get goin'. If you get out first, wait for me at her door. If I get out first, I'm gonna head down for a smoke. I always need a smoke bad after talkin' with her." Harley giggled into his palm.

"I understand. I'll see you then." They parted ways, Harley to sit outside the door, and Jo went up to Yana's and knocked.

Her nameplate said 'Yana Nenevich,' but she insisted he just call her Yana, 'None of that 'Miss' silliness,' and she opened the door with a smile. She always did. "Nice to see you, Joel. Come in, sit." Her little office was cozy and always smelled like lavender tea, with two cushioned chairs beside her work desk. Her inbox was stacked high, but neatly, and she had lots of photographs in frames on her desk or pinned to her bulletin board of her with different men and women. Previous parolees, Jo assumed, since none of them appeared twice. She had a tin of butter cookies that Jo never ate out of, and she'd forgotten to put her makeup kit away. (Strange that she even had it out, as Jo couldn't tell just how much she was wearing, but it didn't seem like a lot.) "So, why did you have to come early?"

Jo stuffed his hands in his pockets and knocked the door shut behind him with his shoulder. "Truth be told, my buddy was coming down today for his meeting, and I really wanted to come with him. so he wouldn't have to come alone."

"Joel, why didn't you just tell me that?" She sighed and sank into one of the brown, faux-leather arm chairs, and patted the arm of the other. He sat on the edge of the open chair as she relaxed back. "I could have accommodated you either way."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to be sure." He slumped and wrapped his arms around one another, and she studied him for a moment.

"It's just as well. With all the records being expunged lately, old cases being thrown out, I've had a bit more flexibility in my schedule." She picked up a pen and pad, chewed the nib, then wrote the date at the top. "Well, that's neither here nor there. How has work been?"

"Still employed."

She scribbled something down. "Are you in the same apartment?"

"At least 'til the lease runs out."

"Would you like some help finding a cheaper place?" Scribble, scribble, scribble.

"I looked. There wasn't anything." Jo shifted, his hipbones and shoulders already sore. He knew she meant it, but it was an empty offer. Yana hummed, then smiled up at him.

"I'd really like for you to find something a bit more permanent. Not to buy a house, not necessarily, but at least something you can sustain a little easier on your wages." Jo rolled his eyes, and hunched his shoulders down.

"There ain't nothin' in this town." She gave him a firm look, no smile this time, and he bowed his head. He always felt like she was trying to baby him, and that she got upset whenever he didn't let her. It was just plain weird. After a moment, she sighed and smiled again.

"And how do you think you're faring?"

"Eh." He shrugged out the automatic answer, until he realized he had more to say. "I mean, better since I got a roommate."

"That's right, you did mention that you had a friend now!" She clapped her hands together, her hoop earrings jingling as she cocked her head. "You know, I don't think you mentioned having a friend before, just people you knew at work!"

"Yeah, uh, met him through work. Computer guy we work with. We've been livin' together twelve days now. He ain't actually on the books yet, he's kinda crashin'-" Yana cleared her throat, and Jo's cheeks burned. "I mean, he works too, he buys groceries and cooks, and we watch movies some nights and have passive-aggressive arguments over what's on the radio." Jo shrugged and tried to dust the blush from his cheeks. "It's pretty cool."

"That's nice! I'm really quite relieved you have a friend! I was starting to worry that all you did was work, drink, and sleep around!" That sent the blood right back to Jo's face.

"Jesus, what the hell do you take me for?!" He covered his forehead, and she laughed.

"Gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to embarrass you!" She giggled again, and settled in her seat. "So, how about a steady girlfriend? Met any girls you might want to take home for more than a night or two?" Jo moaned, and wondered how much more of this he had to go through before he could light up and forget it ever happened.

Outside of 902, Harley studied the nameplate as he waited in a chair beside the door. It was only his third visit to the office, and the same thing puzzled him every time. 'Daniel J. James.' Such a commonplace name. Much like Jo's accent eluded him- his best guess indicated western Philadelphia or northern California- Harley was most curious as to how a man who was so clearly of Shangri-La descent could end up with such a very American name. He knew, for one, that Shangri-La communities were insular, and tended towards intramarriage, rather than forming connections with those who had no roots in the Shangri-La empire. Then again, many first generation immigrants deliberately gave their children American names to help them integrate. Joel Sha was a perfect illustration of that, a Shangri-La surname (perhaps with origins in the Chinese mainland, if Harley were to hazard a guess) but an American given name. Perhaps the Daniel J. wasn't the problem, but the James. Such a common, boring name- and then the door was swinging open and Harley was out of time to think.

"Have a nice afternoon, Mikey!" Daniel waved at the gentleman exiting, then turned to Harley with a great big beam, enough to make his whole great big body seem happy. "Harl! Come on in, man, glad to see ya!"

Daniel had a booming, boisterous voice that always sounded affably content. He towered a few inches over Harley, his shoulders much broader, his closely cropped jet-black hair slicked back and combed neater than Harley could ever convince his mop top to stay in. He patted the empty chair. "Take a seat, man! How you doin'?"

"Just fine, as ever, thank you." Harley perched on the chair, hands folded primly in his lap, as Daniel flopped down into his chair with some effort and put his elbows against the winged back of the seat. Harley was intimately familiar with the office after avoiding eye contact for his first two visits, knew where he kept every little knickknack, where he liked his coffee mug and which drawer held a tin of peppermints. Harley would, if asked, admit curiosity as to the complete lack of family photographs- Daniel seemed old enough to be happily married with a few young children running around, but he wasn't, or at least he wore no ring and had no chintzy, brightly-lit school photographs on his desk. Today, Harley chose to look at the one photograph Daniel had, a frame hanging on the opposite wall with a yellowing black-and-white Polaroid of a run-down little house under an unfamiliar urban skyline with a little boy who looked very much like Daniel might have twenty-five years ago standing in front of it. Daniel made full eye contact, or tried.

"Just fine. Nothin' interesting going on at all? How's work?"

Harley would very much have liked to say, 'My supervisor is a thief and a liar, not to mention a foul, filthy criminal, I'd rather wash windows than work for him another day,' but that wasn't really an option. He very much needed his job, even if it was not a requirement like Jo's was. "Interesting enough. Lots of broken computers. My health insurance is lovely, as well." Harley clasped his hands around one knee, and Daniel chuckled in a familiar, friendly way.

"Well, I guess that's an upside. Look, you're a smart guy, once you get back into school it'll be all smooth sailing. Get you a better job, somewhere a little nicer." Daniel swung an arm back to take a printout off of his desk. "The tech shot me a fax. This here says you passed your urinalysis. Glad- no,  _proud_ to see you're taking your health seriously."

"Ahaha." Harley knew very well that nobody thought that laugh was real. "I must, after all. I did not especially care for the hospital, and I'm sure you could very easily put me away again if I were a danger to myself or others."

"Didn't care for the hospital." Daniel still smiled, but sniffed. "Yeah, that's an understatement. I know those places are hell on earth."

"Goodness, do you think so? I've not been there yet, and you don't seem at all the type to have intimate knowledge thereof." Harley cocked his head, only regretting that a little. Such backchat was amusing with Jo, but Daniel, well, Daniel had corrections officers on speed dial. Luckily, Daniel was enough like Jo (and from their two previous meetings, Harley had anticipated he might be) that he laughed a hard, rollicking laugh.

"Let's just say I've got a vivid imagination, eh? Still, all I meant was that some guys in your position, they start thinking, 'I feel fine, I don't need my medicine anymore' and stop taking it." He tapped his pen to his lip a few times, dark black eyes focusing on a point on the wall just above where Harley was looking. "Or they hate the way it makes 'em feel. Like everything is less colorful and alive, like the world is smaller, closing in on them. They medicate with alcohol or harder stuff, or just stop taking what they're supposed to. That's how you get so many schizophrenics on the street, they can't take clarity and just lose the rest of their lives."

"Ah. I never thought the world was all that beautiful anyway." Harley pursed his lips and spared Daniel a quick glance. "I'm quite aware of my mental state. I don't believe I am any less than what I was before I began to use my medicines. In fact, I fear I would lose what I am were I to stop." He felt his eyes gravitate to the floor, and Daniel came up to the edge of his seat. "I occasionally fear what will happen when my body becomes accustomed to the medication. I still fear that what I'm taking now is inadequate. Flashes of anger I struggle to control, mood swings." His fingers crimped against one another. "I've started to ask my psychiatrist to increase the dosage, but he refuses. Perhaps you could-"

"What, ask for you?" Daniel chuckled again, but the shadows on his face and the half-crook at the corner of his mouth reflected no levity. "See, Harl, this is why I worry about you. You know you're allowed to feel things, right?" Harley didn't respond, and Daniel sat back again. "You're way uncomfortable with your emotions. I mean, are you okay with who you are, man?" Harley hunched forward. Daniel's words, coolly, kindly delivered, felt like a barrage sometimes. "You're allowed to like yourself. You know that, right? You still feel rotten for what you did, I get that, but you really need to accept it and move on. I mean, you weren't in your right mind. You're better now. You can't go on worrying about stuff that part of you did. That ain't fair to yourself at all."

Harley pursed his lips and suppressed a sigh. Of course Daniel wouldn't understand. Daniel seemed to sense Harley's discomfort, and moved on briskly, "How's the shelter? Still living there?"

"Ah. No. I have a roommate now. I live with him now."

"Well, hey! That's great! I know you're kind of a shy guy, big props for meeting someone you like!" Daniel put out a fist for him to pound and Harley, surprised, stared at it a moment before timidly touching his knuckles to his. That was Daniel to a T. Paternal, even fraternal, with everyone who walked through his door. It may have appealed to some, but his overfamiliarity made him squeamish. "Now, tell me all about the guy. How'd you meet? What's his name?"

Harley opened his mouth to start, until it ran through his mind that Daniel was neither father nor brother, and this was not casual conversation. Telling him he'd been saved by another ex-con could very easily put both him and Jo in jeopardy. First, a man who had committed his crimes living with a former gang associate and criminal? It likely wouldn't be allowed. Then, the notion of why someone had tried to attack him, or even that someone had tried to attack him, that would certainly raise some uncomfortable questions...

"I... must I?"

Daniel sat back, puzzling, eyebrows raised high. "Well, I can't make ya, no."

"Then I suppose I'd rather not say."

"Huh." Daniel looked disappointed and it was no act. He was the exact kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Much like Joel did, really. Daniel collected himself with a shrug. "Well, better than that shelter. I mean, you got a mailing address now, right?" Harley nodded. "Yeah, and I bet it's much safer, besides. I was gonna hafta start nagging you, and I hate nagging. Is he nice, at least?"

"Oh, yes. Harmless. Wouldn't harm a fly that wasn't buzzing in his ear."

"Good. Good." Daniel scratched his head. Harley faintly realized that he'd made eye contact when he'd started to talk about Joel and remedied that by looking at the corner of Daniel's notepad. "So, you have a home now. That's nice. You make any friends? I worry about you, you know."

"My, I didn't realize we were so close, Mr. James."

"Er. Dan. You know, I like Dan just fine."

"Does it make you uncomfortable when I call you by your given name?"

"I thought I was asking the questions here, Harl." Daniel smirked and tapped his temple with the tip of his pen. "You know, I'm not kidding. I do worry about you."

"You shouldn't." Harley matched and returned his smile. "I'm just fine. In fact, I don't think I've ever been better."

Daniel only cared about his well-being because it was his job, and Harley was certain of that. Listening to him pretend only made him want to escape just a little bit faster. Outside, he knew, there was someone who genuinely did care. Harley just wanted to drag Dan over to Joel and show him what he thought friendship looked like, but he was just too anxious than Daniel would decide he was wrong.

Down the hall, Jo was just waiting for Yana to finish up. "So, this slot's open, yeah?" He tapped his toe on the ground as she finished her paperwork. "Mind if I make this my appointment from now on?"

"Not at all! So you can keep coming with your friend, right?" She giggled, but tapped a few keys. "It'll make it easier for you. Maybe you'll actually want to come!"

"Yeah. Sure." He gazed longingly at the window, and all that fresh air he could be clouding up with smoke right now. "Whatever you say."

Jo dashed out as soon as Yana dismissed him and bolted for the elevators, and she sighed. Jo was a chore, to be certain, but at least he was quick. "A whole ten minutes before my next appointment." She fetched her mug and a teabag out of her desk and dodged out to the water cooler. Lucky her, the bosses up top hadn't found out that the hot water spigot on the cooler still worked.

She assumed it would take a full four minutes for her tea to brew, so she had plenty of time. Just as she counted out, she heard lumbering footsteps behind her, and whirled on her heel with a bright grin. "Had a fast one, Danny?"

"Yeah, another quick session with Mr. Odd-Monday-Four-Thirty." Dan smirked, and filled one of the paper cups from the cool tap. "And I do mean odd. You know." He gulped his water down in a single smooth swallow, then wiped his mouth. "Ladies first, though. How was your Four-Fifteen?"

"Expunged, but Odd-Thursday Three-Thirty changed his appointment."

"Another expunged? Hell." Dan sighed and slumped against the wall. He and Yana didn't trade their parolees' names- confidentiality wasn't something to mess with in law enforcement- but they could keep one another's appointments straight. Dan ran his fingers back through his hair and sifted through his memory. "Odd-Thursday Four-Thirty... that gang kid."

"He's a man now, though you wouldn't tell from talking to him. Biggest twelve-year-old I've ever met." She hung her head, then pulled her teabag from the cup. "Want some?" Dan leaned forward and took a sniff, and scrunched his nose up.

"New blend?"

"I added some cardamom and rose hips to my last trial, since you said it was too sour."

"I don't think it helped."

"Oh." She took a sip, then coughed. "Oh, you're right." She held it out, and he sighed and took a small slurp, then gulped down more water.

"Less cardamom, whatever that sorta musky taste is. Tell me about Mr. Big Kid. He still hitting on you?"

"Oh, he gave that up a while ago. I just kept laughing at him." Yana giggled into her mug, sending little trails of white steam over her cheeks. "But you know, he really is a nice guy, somewhere in there. I honestly think he's one of those guys who might deserve to have his slate wiped clean. He probably wouldn't have committed if he thought he had a better option."

"Pretty sure you could say that about any of them." Dan refilled his cup to hide a roll of the eyes.

"I guess. But he seems harmless to me. Not like some of them. What worries me is that he just doesn't care!" She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "I feel like he might offend again if he didn't have a good enough reason not to. He doesn't want to go back to jail, but without some guidance, something forcing him to keep a job and a house, the freedom of running his life the way he wants is going to turn into not knowing what to do with himself." She snapped her fingers. "It's like when you're a kid, and you decide that when you grow up, you'll eat only ice cream and Trix cereal, but you just never learn that you can't do that! He'll do it, and make himself sick, and have nobody to blame but his own silly self!"

Dan chuckled and rubbed his temple. "Yeah, I never thought like that when I was a kid."

"You must've been a boring kid." Yana giggled and nudged his side with a petite elbow. He laughed halfheartedly.

"You have no idea. But I get where you're going."

"Yeah." Her smile cleared away like a fish vanishing into a pool. "If nothing forces him to maintain employment and a permanent home, I'm not sure he will. He hasn't really set any roots down. Best I've got is a short mention of a new friend, but he wouldn't tell me much about him, so maybe they're not very close."

"Funny coincidence. My last guy says he has a new roommate too." Dan smirked a little wider, and Yana gasped.

"You don't think-"

"Well, we don't know for sure."

"Should we say something?"

"If you're right, and from everything you've told me, they're a match made in hell. Total opposites. My guy just plain doesn't like gang members." Dan's smile bent a little wider. "If they're hanging out, it might be good for him. And since we can't prove anything, we don't have to tell the higher-ups."

"I guess not." Yana relaxed, and drained her tea. She coughed a few times, then smiled at Dan again. "How is he?"

"Same as our last two meetings." Dan held his hands out helplessly. "Weirder than the bearded lady and the elastic man put together. I can't make heads or tails of him."

"Now, he's the one who-"

"That's the one."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah. I ought'a be scared to be alone in a room with him, but y'know? Model parolee on paper." Dan gestured with a broad, flat hand like he was smoothing concrete. "Takes his meds. Doesn't complain about anything. Seems to be happy to be anywhere at all. He's the kind of guy where you look at his file and expect a lion, but when I actually talk to him-"

"You get a pussycat?" Yana teased.

"You get nothing, that's what you get." Dan held his open hand out. "Like he's hardly even there. He tells me exactly as much as I need to hear, and every word of it's true, but it's like there's nothing else to him." Yana hummed through a small frown, and Dan nodded. "Kinda like your guy, except he has no roots to put down. He's like a balloon, or a ghost. Only time you realize he's even there is when he gets angry, and you can tell when he's starting to get angry." Dan bent his fingers into claws and battled between his hands. "He just gets so tense, you feel it around him. The rest of the time, he's dead air." He threw his hands down to his sides and sighed. "I don't know how to help the guy. It's like with your guy- wouldn't'a done what he did if he didn't have to. For this guy, it's more like he wouldn't'a done it if he hadn't completely snapped. I read his case transcripts. His mind was gone. And now that it's back, he doesn't actually want it anymore. I feel awful that that's all he thinks his life should be. I don't think a couple dozen pats on the back are gonna do it, either."

"Well, if he's made friends with a certain someone I know..." Yana trailed off, tracing her cheekbone as she thought. "He's like you, but crass and honest. Maybe it'll rub off."

"And maybe some of my guy's sensibility will rub off on yours," Dan chuckled, then glanced at his watch. "Better get back to it."

"Oh, right!" Yana swooped down to refill her mug with cold water. "Will you be at Aikido tonight?"

"Nah, got a meeting with that person-finder. Might have a new lead." Dan sighed, and Yana looked up at him, her eyebrows wrought up.

"Still not giving up, huh?"

"Never. I don't care what it costs or how long I spin my wheels." Dan smiled under a wrinkled brow, stiffly, but affectionately. "I'll eat cat food and live in a cardboard box if that's what it comes to."

"You must love whoever it is you're looking for. I'm kind of jealous, really. But I'll pass it on to Kenny." She gave his elbow a pat as she circled around him. "He'll make sure you get the high-quality tuna. Friskies is too high in sodium."

Yana was sure his lungs were aching, and she could still hear him laughing it off when she got back to her office. It was still bright outside, and she looked down below. She could just make out Jo, with his bright red hair, cutting through the crowd with someone dark-haired in tow. She could swear from here that he had him by the wrist, and between that and what Dan had said, she just had to wonder:

"Maybe you'd straighten up a little if somebody loved you."

* * *

Jo'd made Harley run for the bus stop, because the only thing worse than missing the bus was missing the bus outside of the jailhouse. It was crowded already. Harley put his windbreaker down over the lone open seat, and Jo grabbed onto the handhold loop over his head like the foam would fall apart under his fingers. (Let's face it, as old as these buses are, it just might.) Harley slumped in the seat, and Jo noticed. "D'ja have a good appointment?"

"Mm. I don't know how one has a 'good' appointment with one's parole officer. Did you?"

"Nah, me neither. It's not like I hate her or anything, s'just... it's a waste of both of our time." He shrugged, and faced Harley so he didn't have to shout over the roaring wheels under them. "I tell her the same stuff every week, hold onto my job like I'm supposed to, I don't smoke weed or shoot up heroin. Fuck it. I'm a good kid. Why do I gotta do this a whole 'nother two goddamn years?"

"I understand." Harley paused. "But I also understand the need for long parole periods. Recidivism occurs most frequently among uneducated young men in the first three years after their initial release. Ensuring you last the first few years out of jail is vital to keeping you from returning."

"But it's been three years." Jo shook his head, his hair falling around him like a shade. "I haven't done nothin' wrong. I work every day 'less I'm puking my guts out. I pay my rent- Hell, I got denied assistance 'cause I just ain't poor enough, but I keep payin'. I don't see why I gotta keep going back and tellin' that lady that I ain't fucking up."

"You were very young when you offended, Jo." Harley touched his wrist, and Jo had to be sure it was him. It was a weirdly empathetic little gesture, coming from a guy who couldn't quite look at him when he wasn't fully dressed. "No doubt, they just want to be sure."

"Yeah, well. I'm sure. I'm not a kid no more. I don't need them over my shoulder like they're my fucking mom or something." Jo sighed, then brought his head up with a smile like he was rolling sand off of his neck. "But what am I gonna do, right? I can't change it. I guess even if it is a pain."

"It rather is. There's going to be so terribly much to catch up on tomorrow." Harley rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then pulled at the inner corners of his eyes. "It exhausts me to think about everything that Zack's corrupted while I'm away."

"You sure that ain't just your P.O.?" Jo snickered, and Harley forced a weak chuckle. Jo realized he was serious. "Hey, man, if you need a few minutes of shut-eye, go for it. It's a long way back to our side of the quarter. I'll watch out for ya." He grinned, and laid his palm on Harley's shoulder as a handhold as the bus swerved around a string of detour signs. Harley mumbled a 'thank you,' and lowered his eyes away from Jo.

He was asleep quickly, only rousing when the nurse next to him pulled her earbuds out and hopped over him to get to her stop. Jo scooted him over so he could take the empty seat and let Harley loll on the corrugated side wall. Jo tugged his windbreaker up from under his ass and put it between Harley's face and the cold metal, and Harley giggled under his breath. He talked in his sleep, and his eyes opened sometimes, but when they fell shut again, it was as peaceful a look as Jo ever saw on the guy. He wore tension on his forehead like the dude-on-a-horse monument in the business district wears bird shit, and he was way too young to have wrinkles. Hell, now he felt bad for complaining about his shitty parole meeting at all. Like Harl needed to put up with his bullshit. He was supposed to be keeping the guy safe and happy, wasn't he?

It was right around then that he looked up and around and spotted a shaky-looking guy in a hoodie staring right at Harley. He was short, pale, heavyset, with rings under his eyes, but Jo couldn't see much else. Didn't matter. It was enough. Definitely too warm for a hoodie, that was for damn sure, and that he wasn't taking his eyes off of Harley was a big fat black spot. Jo hadn't gone near heroin- Benny had lived with a user once and tried to convince Jo to give it a go, "see if you like it," but Jo didn't want to waste what little spare cash he had at the time in the off-chance that Benny was going to vanish next week. After that, it was a matter of seeing some of the other kids in juvy fighting off the shakes from withdrawal, and he figured he'd saved his money (among other things) wisely. This guy? Yeah, like the kids in juvy, but bigger, and looking a lot hungrier. Jo also knew that the Cents, while not big pushers, wouldn't hesitate to offer a guy his fix in exchange for a little recon. Jo had always been pretty good with simple numbers, so he thought, and this was nothing but two plus two times Cents equals deep shit.

The bus speakers crackled to life over them. "Madison Street and Ninth." Harley opened a bleary eye, and nudged Jo. Jo didn't budge, but offered Harley a sheepish grin.

"Hey, man. I know it's only Monday, but why don't you and me go out together to celebrate gettin' through the meeting?" He squeezed Harley's inner elbow and pointedly turned his eyes towards the junkie across the aisle. Harley seemed to understand.

"Where did you have in mind?"

"Somewhere good. Trust me."

Jo did his damnedest not to press Harley into the wall in a misguided effort to keep him as far away from the guy watching them as he could. The two didn't say a significant word to one another until the bus rumbled to a halt, and the speaker squawked again: "Ninth Street Dockyards. End of the line." Jo got up and stepped back into the aisle, deliberately keeping his back to their follower, to let Harley lead the way out of the bus into the dimming evening. The junkie followed, and as Jo stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Harley at the crosswalk across from the Heavy Sands parking lot, he could hear him breathing. Harley's back straightened.

"You're not interested in taking me drinking at all, are you." It was a whispered non-question, and Jo only hung his head. "Jo, what do you have in mind?"

"You and me, we're gonna do some card-sharking. You got the best poker face I know." Jo tugged his phone out of his front pocket, and spoke at a natural volume. "Lemme just let my girl know I'm gonna be late." Harley kept at his side as they walked on, and Jo shoved his phone back in his pocket and kept his hands tucked in. Harley tried to rush when the light turned, but then matched Jo's pace. The junkie was still behind them, not running, not chasing, just trailing. Harley's phone buzzed just as they got to the other side, and Jo pulled his hands from his pockets as Harley checked the message. He giggled.

"Ah. That's my girlfriend now. Poor thing, she must be worried about me already." He put his phone away with a blink-and-you-miss-it nod to Jo, and Jo pushed and held the door open for Harley.

In the hazy orange light of the barroom, the two separated, Harley making a beeline for the crowded bar, and Jo slipping towards the side wall like a cat's long shadow. He waited for their junkie spy to make his way in, and when he did, he sneaked around and up behind him, and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Hey, man, glad you made it!"

"Huh?" The idiot stared back at him through watery, glazed eyes like he had seven mouths (and for all Jo knew, this guy thought he did). Jo just jostled his shoulder.

"You seriously don't remember? I told you 'bout the poker scene here, man, ain't you here for a couple rounds?" Jo practically dragged the little stoner over to the tables. He looked behind him, bewildered, as Jo gritted out a grin. "Come on, I'll show you the ropes." He threw a hand up towards the back corner of the card room. "Yo! Yakim! Come 'ere and help me show this guy how ta hold 'em!"

Jo shoved the mousy, shaky guy down into a seat, who sputtered a nervous little protest: "Hey, man, I'm just here 'cause-"

"Cause you need a little extra scratch for that itch, right?" Jo cocked a broad grin as he sank into the chair. The other guy got quiet, as Yakim guffawed into his hand and dropped into his chair.

"Jojo, you sly dog. You'll bring in anyone for an easy win."

"I dunno." Jo smirked over the table at the junkie, a glimmer in his eyes. "This guy looks hungry for it." He stuck his chin out in a brazen dare. "Thought I told you, man, I'm the best there is in this town. If you can take me, you'll be walkin' away with a fat chunk of change."

The junkie kept staring at him, like he couldn't make his eyes any less wide and blank, but he slowly nodded. "Yeah." He glanced around. "Yeah, okay, I'm in."

"Good." Jo smirked and slumped against his seat back, then called: "Someone get my ugly friend a beer!"

Two others joined the table, nobody Jo recognized, and Jo passed his deck around so everyone could check it before taking it in hand and shuffling. The guy kept staring at Jo and then around the room as he shuffled the deck, and hardly even noticed a lithe, slender hand placing a bottle of Natty Boh at his left before it could vanish back into the crowd that had formed around the table. Jo had girls on his side already, and he hadn't even dealt the first hand. "You ever played before, man?"

"A little, here 'n there," the junkie muttered. Jo could still see him looking around through the crowd, and dealt out.

"Good. Let's see what you know." Jo fanned his cards out, and winked at one of the girls at his side. "Check this out."

The round played out, Jo played low, and when the cards hit the table, the junkie took the pot. The junkie stuffed the money into his pocket, and Jo laughed. "Man, runnin' out cold after one round! Come on, little man." He cocked his head forward. "Let's go again, 'less you need to make tracks before you piss yourself."

The junkie snorted hard, but put some of the pot back into the middle. That same slim hand from before nipped in to take the empty bottle and replaced it with a fresh one. Jo winked in the direction of the server, and dealt again.

Jo played it very safe- he'd put in just enough to encourage the others, and only took a win when he ran out of money. He made the win worth it, goading the rest of the table to bet high, then swiping the pot and everything the junkie had won. The junkie roared to his feet when Jo swooped in to take his winnings, and Jo bared a broad, wicked grin. "You win some, you lose some. Come on, your winnin' streak ain't over, is it? Or are you really okay walkin' away from all this?" Jo fanned some of the cash out, then folded it up in front of him. The junkie slowly sank back down, staring at the cash now, and Jo waved behind him. "Someone get this man another drink!" A familiar hand answered the call, weaving around arms without letting the face it belonged to appear over the table or anywhere in view to drop off another bottle.

Oh, Harley was better than Jo could have asked for. Talk about a guy who knew how to play his cards right!

A couple dozen rounds later, the guy was swaying and slurring his words, and Jo decided to make his move. He waited for a good hand and played it out perfectly, the way he did when it was "win this hand or it's shrimp-flavored Maruchan for the next week," and the fat pot he drew in roiled the junkie right out of his seat again.

"Motherfucker! Lousy fucking cheat!"

"Hey man, it's luck. Hate the game, not the player." Jo spread his legs and shoulders, displaying his hand and a winning (heh) grin.

"Fuck you. Fuck you!" Jo loved how the less brain someone had, the more cuss words they used. Yeah. Junkie was blitzed.

"What, you challenging my honor?" Jo put his elbows down and let amusement play over his face. "You checked my deck. I'm clean, and that's more'n I can say for you. Put up or shut up," he winked over the guy's shoulder. "'Less you wanna take this outside."

"You wanna fucking go? I'll go, you faggot fuck!" The shaky guy shoved back from the table, and Jo rolled to a slow stand, shoulders back.

"Your funeral, buddy." He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, loose and smirking. The slender arm that had provided drink after drink was gone, but as the junkie staggered out, Yakim seized Jo's arm.

"Is it worth your freedom, Jojo?" He gave him a meaningful look, and Jo slowly shook his head.

"Just gonna talk to the guy." He pushed Yakim's arm off. "Just gonna talk it out."

"Jojo." Yakim's voice sounded like one that came from behind a hand trying to pull him out of a crosswalk with an eighteen-wheeler barreling blindly towards it. Jo just beamed at him.

"I got this." He followed the junkie out into the street, with a sigh of, "Let's make this game a little more interesting, yeah?"

Two steps out the door, and Jo hardly had time to knock a cigarette from the box into his hand before getting hit with that cold nostalgia of a knife against his throat.

"You think you can rip a fucking Cent, bitch?" Jo put his wrist against his breastbone to keep the guy's wrist back.

"Buddy." Jo kicked his heel up behind him and- yeah, drunkie spread his legs for balance- struck gold. "You wanna get handsy, buy me a drink first." The junkie dropped the knife, choked and stumbled, clutching at his aching jewels, and Jo pivoted on his heel and grabbed the guy by the collar. "Sides, only ones I let touch me that close got tits and a lot less hepatitis." He gave the guy a hard shake, and somewhere between the alcohol, the pain, and the juice swishing in his head, junkie lost it and passed flat out. Jo dropped him, and he fell to a limp heap on the ground. Jo dusted his hands and looked around behind him. "Yo, Harl. Good going on loading the guy up."

Harley emerged from the shadow behind the door, and leaned down to get a closer look at their spy. He touched two fingers to the man's throat, then wiped his hands on his pants. "He's alive."

"Course he is. Don't think I got it in me to just kill a dude." Harley hunched his shoulders, but Jo didn't seem to notice as he walked further into the lot and lit up a smoke. "I could'a just beat his ass, but in public like this, I need some of that alibi shit. Everyone in there'll vouch for me. He got drunk, picked a fight, and passed out. Now we go home before he wakes up."

"Of course." Harley gave the collapsed man one last once over, then fell in lockstep with Jo. "Do you think... he knows too much?"

"Eh? Oh, the whole spy thing." Jo rubbed his chin, tugged his lower lip in the process. "Well, hopefully he thinks that's just the bus we take from the correctional building. If not, he doesn't know where we'd get off. If anything, he knows what bus we'd take home. We should be okay for now." Jo smiled, but Harley's feet stopped, his shoulders slumped, his face fell, and he contritely reached for Jo's sleeve.

"Joel, I'm so sorry-"

"Hey." Jo brushed him off and stood squarely in front of him. "Don't give me that shit. Look me in the face." Harley stayed slouched, and Jo bent his knees to catch a glimpse of his eyes and the green light reflected off his cracked glasses. "We're in this together, man. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to you. Quit worryin' so much. We got this covered." He slung an arm over Harley's shoulder, and Harley jerked, a single flail, but Jo overpowered him with a single motion and swung around him. "Come on, I've had enough games for the night." Harley found him matching his steps to Jo's without even thinking, with Jo's arm still around him. "Hey, how 'bout I let you pick the movie?" He put on a big, self-confident grin, but he still felt a little uneasy.

Sending out scouts. Seriously? What the hell did Harley do to the Cents that got him this much attention? Jo got the funny feeling that he wouldn't be left wondering forever. It was just twisting in the wind until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Yana is Yaone. Draw your own conclusions about Dan!


	7. The Golden Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo decides to try and get to know Harley through Steele. He gets to know Gage instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got really long on me, but I have a really good excuse: the more I write of Gage, the more I absolutely love Gage. Gage is awesome, this one's for him!

**7: The Golden Monkey**

After their run-in with the junkie spy, Jo had two things on his mind.

First, he needed to keep a closer eye on Harley. If he hadn't been a little more wary, the creep could have followed them home, and then what? Have a couple dozen creeps crawling up his stairway and into his humble little abode? Fuck that noise. Even worse, what if Harley had been alone when the guy had spotted him? What if Jo hadn't changed his appointment? What if the guy had cornered Harley on the bus? Jo hated "what-if"s. He wasn't going to deal with that.

Jo made it his business to know where Harley was, where Harley was going, and if he could go with him, he did. That was how he ended up at the supermarket and pleaded Harley into buying pork shoulder for stew. That was how he ended up spending his entire Saturday morning sitting and smoking on a bench, steaming hot in his best Metallica tee, outside of a clinical office building while Harley was in. It wasn't all bad. He got pork stew, for one. For two, he got to grin up when Harley tapped him on his shoulder, and showed off: "Got to level one-o-nine. Beat my old record. You have a good talk?"

"Mm." It was that same pinched, uncomfortable smile that came to him when asked about meeting with his parole officer. "We talked."

"Hey, man, I don't know much about therapy, but you should be able to talk to your therapist." Jo hopped up. "Can ya talk to him?" He found himself craning his neck down towards Harley just a little, though their height difference wasn't that great. Harley just seemed so small when he got like this, and even seemed to shrink a little under Jo's gaze.

"We talk enough. It's... it's not easy for me to open up. Ah, weren't you saying something about going to Goodwill? We may wish to hurry, it gets crowded later in the day." Harley walked around Jo and towards the bus stop, and Jo clicked his tongue but chased.

Yeah, "not easy for me to open up." Understatement of the year. In the few days since they'd gotten followed home, Harley had clammed up tighter than an informant when the cops bust out the cuffs. The guy was never a huge chatterbox, unless directly prompted- you know, like every time Jo ran his mouth off and needed to be set straight- but the tight, pained look he got when he talked now, combined with that far-off expression he had when he was quiet, just made Jo worry that if he left Harley alone, if he left this alone, he was going to have to worry about something worse than a Cent getting to him.

Like whoever- or whatever- broke Harley and put him in a white padded cell.

Harley wasn't quite right, Jo had been convinced of that on day one. He just hadn't factored in that keeping Harley happy was going to be a part of keeping him safe.

Sunday morning, Jo woke to the smell of eggs, bacon, and bleach. Harley's best shirt was hung on the back of the closet a yard away from Jo's face, reminding him of the plan for today. Jo sat up, still groggy and smearing the sleep from his eyes, but with enough awareness to find his boots under the table and grab a paper towel. Harley turned from the stove, as Jo flopped back onto the sofa, lit up a cigarette, and started cleaning mud from the grooves in his soles onto an old magazine. Once the first nicotine rush took hold, Jo was awake enough to talk: "Hey, so, how much of a shit will Father Steele give if I don't eat the stale cracker?"

Jo didn't own a suit, but he still had one decent shirt, and who was going to notice one lousy missing button? Nobody, that's who, not when Harley took one look, chuckled, and found another in his bag (the fuck?) and sewed it right the fuck back on in ten seconds flat like it hadn't even been gone (the double fuck?!). Seriously. Jo had to be sure nobody'd put a ring on him overnight. Harley loaned him a crimson tie. "It'll look perfect with your complexion." Jo took it and fumbled for a moment, but Harley tied it loose and slipped it around Jo's neck, then drew it tight. "I've never been able to wear this one. It suits you better than it ever has me." Jo had to look himself in the mirror to be sure it was still him. The tie, well, it looked okay. Not Jo's style. Harley was smiling, as warm as he'd been in days, so Jo smiled right back.

"S'long as you think I'm presentable, man."

"The effort is deeply appreciated." Harley threw his jacket on, then crouched by Haku's cage. "You'll only be alone a little while, friend." He put his finger through the bars, and Haku cooed and gave him a gentle nibble across the fingernail. Harley smiled, and turned to Jo. "You don't mind?"

"I can work out later. It's no big deal." Jo tied his hair up and tucked the last few loose strands behind his ears. "Let's not be late, man, I wouldn't put it past Sister Mary Sunshine Steele to get at'cher knuckles with a ruler." Harley giggled all the way to the stairwell, and Jo hoped he wasn't just humoring him.

The K-One chapel had a separate entrance from the shelter, and Father Steele was waiting out front, donning his familiar cassock, but Jo spotted a bright green drapery around his shoulders now. Gage, standing on the other side of the door, jumped and waved when he saw Jo and Harley coming.

"Harley! Why'n'cha tell me you were bringin' Jojo?!" He ran up to greet them, but halted a step away when Father Steele cleared his throat. Jo chuckled- you can put a monkey in a suit, but it's still a monkey. Gage bounced on the balls of his feet, showing just how firmly his unruly hair was plastered to his forehead. "Oh man oh man, this is awesome! Can we hang out after the sermon maybe?"

"Gage." Steele's voice had three tones that Jo had heard in their short interactions- bored, pissed, and about to get pissed. This was probably number three. "This is their day of rest. And mine." He glowered at Jo for a second, and Jo stuck his tongue out at him.

"Just for that, Sister Christian- hey, Gage, you ever heard of Monkey Rush?" He smirked and pulled out his phone. "Sit next to me, and I'll show ya."

"No. Thanks." Gage beamed and held out programs. "I'd rather listen."

Jo couldn't help but hope he'd retained some of his dignity when his jaw fell, but he pushed it back in with a sly smirk and accepted a program. "Hey, whatever floats your boat, brat." Harley sighed to break the tension, and tapped Jo's inner elbow.

"Would you mind if we sat up front? I know there's not a lot to watch, but I'd rather be able to see."

"Whatever you want, dude." Jo let Harley lead him on, but heard something new- Father Steele trying not to laugh. He ignored it until they got inside. "Hey, the fuck is his problem?"

"Father Steele, you mean? I'm not certain it's a problem as much as it is his personality."

"What personality?"

Harley hushed Jo, glanced to the door, and continued in a near-whisper. "He's really quite kind, in his way. He's just stiff."

"He  _is_  a stiff. Still," Jo glanced back again. "Nice to see he knows there's any other color other than black." The green scarf around his neck still caught Jo's eye. Harley turned back for a moment, but he didn't have to see when he realized what Jo meant.

"Oh, you mean his vestment. He only wears it for services. I don't think he wears all black by choice, it's the uniform."

"Fair. Guess I wouldn't think that if he chose something colorful, it'd be green. Maybe blue'd suit him. Go with his eyes better." Jo adjusted his tie. Might'a looked sharp, but it wasn't very comfortable.

"He didn't choose it." Harley turned around and bowed his head. The front doors fell shut with a heavy thump, and Jo hardly heard Harley finish over the sharp clack of Father Steele's footsteps: "It was an heirloom from the previous Father Steele. It's more valuable to him than his own life."

Gage slid into the gap of space beside Harley and the aisle, program in hand, big smile in place, heels bouncing under the bench. Jo heard him whisper, "Man, you got Jojo in a suit and everything!"

"Gage, let me assure you that the day I convince Joel into a suit is the day Christ throws the gates of Heaven wide and welcomes us all in for a pool party." Both Gage and Jo had to smother a fit of laughter into their hands as Steele passed the front pew, wearing a face that could freeze alcohol, and stood at the pulpit. He cast his eyes around, and Jo did the same.

The K-One chapel was as nice as its outside used to be. The walls were close, thick, dark wood beams came to a point in the middle of the high ceiling. Stained glass illustrations of scenes from the Bible from right to left: Christ's birth, healing the sick, his crucifixion right over Steele's head, his resurrection on Jo's left. It wasn't a big room, but it was full, mostly with the residents and regulars of the shelter, somewhere around thirty people, all gazing forward, somewhere between dead-eyed and rapt. Nice, mixed crowd. A few people opened up Bibles on their lap, but most, like Gage and Harley, folded their hands on their laps and looked forward, as Father Steele made the sign of the cross in front of himself, and his lips, always tight and thin as an electrical cord, split and- Holy shit.

Jo was sure he'd been dragged straight to hell itself. Father Steele was singing, and it sounded exactly like those creepy devil-summoning things from the cheesy B-movies. Harley must have seen him flatten to the pew like a spider was hanging in front of him, because he tugged the fold on his pant leg. "Joel?"

"What the hell is goin' on here, Harl? He's speakin' in tongues or something."

"It's Latin," Harley said in a hush. "It's the original language of Catholic masses, and part of why I enjoy his services so much. Just listen." Harley relaxed back into his seat, and Joel uneasily shifted towards the wall. All the people around him chanted an 'Amen' back when Steele paused, and Jo caught the last strains of his opening number echoing off the high ceilings. There was a weird, pleasant harmony to it when it came back on itself like that. Steele started again, and Jo tried to forget about black masses, and took in Steele's fantastic tenor.

Alright, so the guy was as flat as a squirrel on the highway most of the time, and generally just as pleasant to be around, but he could sing like nobody's business. And that Latin stuff? Now that Jo knew Satan wasn't going to show up and ask for a slice or six of his soul, it was starting to sound kind of cool. He recognized some of it from some movies, and hummed along with the "Kyrie, eleison" bit. A few others were singing along to the rest: mumbling, marble-mouthed mimics of Steele's crystal-clear invocation. Jo was pretty sure nobody actually understood a word of it, but it sounded amazing, so it probably didn't matter all that much. Steele didn't care if anyone sang along, anyway, he just folded his hands, crossed himself where appropriate, and sang like the spotlight was on him. And it was. The light from the window behind him caught around his head, shining off his hair and onto his robe and vestment in a rainbow of light, and between that and the clarity of his voice, Jo suddenly got a much better idea of why he was a priest.

Jo had no clue what was going on for most of the service. Steele performed prayers, read from a book, then closed the book with a sigh. He stared around the crowd for a moment, took a sip from the water glass on his altar, and finally muttered, reluctantly, "This week's liturgy... Epistola ad Corinthios, second chapter, verses 8 and 9. It happens to be about charity to those less fortunate than us, how to collect for the poor. I don't need to tell any of you about that. You know when to hold your hands out. Rise for the Universal Prayer." Harley, Gage, and a few others stood up, and the rest all seemed to follow, and Jo got it.

Nobody in here spoke Latin. Then again, most of them probably didn't speak English, either.

Steele blessed the crackers and wine in song, performed a weird ritual with a metal holder for the cracker, hell, he didn't know, Catholics were kind of weird, but Jo distinctly heard Gage singing that part. He wondered how many times Gage had heard it, but from that bright, covetous look in those big brown eyes, he could guess that this was his favorite part. Indeed, when Father Steele finished his prayers and lifted one hand to beckon the audience up into line, Gage was first in line, on his knees, grinning. Jo noticed Steele slip his hand into the altar to take out a vanilla wafer, and he put that onto Gage's tongue instead of the round crackers in his basket. He also gave him a sip from a separate cup, which Jo could only guess was grape juice rather than the wine he offered the rest of those in line.

"Shit, he's a good dad," Jo chuckled to nobody in particular. He was the only one sitting in the pews, until Gage and Harley rejoined him. Harley tipped his head towards Jo's as he sat again.

"You know, he won't mind that you're not baptized."

"Yeah." Jo cast his eyes around at the stained glass windows again, fixed on the image of Christ with a spear stuck in his ribs. "But I mind."

A few more prayers, and Father Steele was done. He repeated a similar-sounding phrase a few times, and sections of the audience replied it in chorus, one by one. Finally, he got to, "Peace be unto you."

Both Harley and Gage and a few others replied, "And also with you." That was the last of it, and Jo was sure because everyone was getting up and heading for the doors. Harley and Gage stood by as Steele took another sip from the water on his podium, and descended from the altar to the aisle. Jo hoisted up to a stand and smirked at Steele.

No use denying the guy a compliment when he deserved one.

"Hey, preacher man, pretty good show ya put on! Nice an' short, just the way I like it." He beamed at Steele, all teeth, and Steele gave him teeth back in a sneer.

"I'm surprised you didn't catch fire."

"Right back atcha, Sister."

"It really was lovely," Harley started quickly, putting his words between Jo and Father Steele. "I only do wish your sermons were a little more detailed."

"Why bother?" Steele's glare was on Harley now, and Jo felt a weight lifted off his neck. "Nobody ever listens to sermons. Even in churches where they all speak the same language, they just check their phone under the pew."

"That's not so." Harley didn't even buckle under Steele's eyes, though Jo noticed Gage checking a little brick cellphone tucked in his side pocket. "I listen. Most intently."

"I thought we'd long since established that you're weird."

"I listen, Dad."

"Same goes for you." Steele tapped a fist on Gage's head.

"My, my." Harley laughed, as Gage whined and stuck his tongue out at Steele. "I suppose I had hoped you'd make an exception for a new visitor; but then, you didn't know he was coming." Harley brushed his fingers against the small of Jo's back. "Perhaps just Sundays, then? I know your predecessor wrote sermons every week for the Sunday mass, relating to current events and such, but-"

"My predecessor is gone. I'm here now." Steele's teeth were gritted tight, cheeks ablaze. "I've got better things to do than take your shit. Bottom line is, it doesn't matter what I say or how much of it as long as the message gets across, and with a crowd like this, today's message long since has." He yanked his vestment off and swooped around the other three in a huff. Gage chewed his finger.

"Y'shouldn't'a said that, Harl."

"Realized that a moment too late." Harley's arms came in, tight to his chest like he could stem the blood from a knife he'd stuck into someone else. He gave Jo a significant look. "The... the previous Father Steele. Connor Steele. He was shot to death in this very sanctuary."

"Shit!" Jo whirled around, like the bullets were still flying. "Y'mean-"

"Dad doesn't talk about it." Gage shrugged a little, unable to make himself move more.

"To my knowledge, a gentleman who was intoxicated on cocaine broke in through a window." Harley sniffed, his nose turning up. "Probably intended to steal valuables to pawn off and feed his habit. Father Steele and the Father Steele we know came in after the noise, and he turned a gun on the both of them. Connor Steele died very quickly. Our Father Steele watched."

"Christ." Jo shook his head, and looked at all the windows. "Ten years ago. He's like our age, so he was-"

"Thirteen," Gage mumbled.

"Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder he's such a goddamn stiff. Maybe he ought'a get his head checked-"

"He's fine." Gage smiled a little at this. "He's kinda harsh on the outside, but he's really good on the inside, even if bad stuff's happened to him." He circled Jo, spinning back on his heel. "You should try an' get to know him! I think you and he might even get along a little!" With that, he scampered off in the same direction Father Steele had gone, and Harley tugged Jo's sleeve.

"Perhaps you would like to show me some of those exercises you were recommending last week. My arms do get sore very quickly carrying computer towers around."

This little concession made Jo a lot happier than it should have, and he quickly bolted for the door. "Well, let's start with how you're lifting! Weight should be in your legs, not your arms, 'cos if you're using your arms, you're using your shoulders, and if you're using your shoulders, you're using your back. Y'can't just do bicep curls and expect to get better at actually carrying shit around." He'd gotten so into gesturing and miming the motions that he'd hardly noticed Harley at his heels, "I'll show ya some good lifts. Plus, all those nice body weight exercises I mentioned. Squats, lunges, maybe some upper back and shoulder work. You got clothes you don't mind getting messy?" He slung an arm around Harley's neck and shoulders, and Harley only shrank away from him a little.

He was loosening up, a little. Maybe playing by Harley's rules meant he could get things working like they were supposed to.

* * *

Gage had given him one idea. Get to know Steele. Not for Steele's sake- fuck, no, the ten-second interactions they'd had over the past few years told Jo everything he ever needed to know- but the fact that Harley knew Steele's deal from more than ten years ago? Steele had known Harley before. Before before. If Harley knew what had rammed Father Steele's tighty-whities up his ass so far he was smelling Fruit-of-the-Looms, maybe Steele had something on Harley.

Almost without realizing it, Jo began hurrying on his way to the shelter in the evenings and staying a little later. It wasn't like they weren't going anyway, but up until now, he would sit back and let Harley dance around him, cooking dinner, tutoring Gage, and Jo only really joined in when invited. Now? No way. He might have sucked at doing the things Harley did, but it didn't stop him from trying. He was happy to throw an apron on to help Harley cook the evening meals. He couldn't chop onions or potatoes as fast or as neat as Harley could, and left chunky little piles of produce in his wake that always looked like he'd just sort of given up halfway through. He couldn't be trusted with things like browning meat, because he got distracted from the pan with whatever conversation he was having with Harley or Gage. Harley usually resorted to giving him a wooden spoon, placing him in front of a bubbling pot of some variety, and telling him, "Stir until I say not to."

Jo could stir. Jo could make circles and shapes on the surface forever, or until Harley told him to stop and turned off the heat. And Jo could talk with Gage. He could talk with Gage forever.

"Jojo, didja hear about the new Marvel movies?" Gage bounced up to his side, magazine in hand. "Harl said ya like movies."

"I like movies, sure." Jo kept on stirring, one hand in his pockets itching at his cigarettes. "But I like old movies, mostly. Can't afford Blu-rays."

"Don'cha go to the movies ever?" Gage cocked his head.

"Well, I would, but..." He struggled to remember the rest of the sentence he had in mind. Why hadn't he gone to the movies? He remembered seeing ads for "Alice in Wonderland" and thinking how cool Johnny Depp looked in that costume, wanting to see the "Purge" movies, and hell, "Avengers" looked like a shit load of fun! He'd just watched bootlegs on YouTube, long after they were out of theaters. Oh. That was it. "Well. I guess theaters are expensive, and I'm cheap. I mean, seven bucks for a ticket, eight bucks for a popcorn, five bucks for a Coke. If I'm gonna sit staring at a screen all by myself, I can do it cheap on my own."

"Ohh." Gage looked crestfallen. "I get it." Jo almost felt as bad as the kid clearly did, until Gage continued. "You need someone to go with you. Goin' alone's gotta be real lonely. I don't get to go to movies neither-"

"Either, Gage." Harley didn't put his knife down.

"Either," he mumbled.

"Wait, you're all up on me about not going to the movies," Jo gave the pot a hard stir and Gage a hard stare. "You don't go to the movies, why're you givin' me shit?"

"Well, I need someone to go with me, too. All the movies I like are PG-13, plus the closest theaters are a bus ride away, and Dad says I can't go alone." Gage held up the magazine again, hiding a soft pout behind it. "So, I thought maybe if you liked the Marvel movies..."

"Shit, kid, are you kiddin' me?" Jo grinned and set both hands on his hips. "I wanna see Guardians of the Galaxy like nobody's business! Plus, you seen that Black Widow chick? I gotta see those high kicks on the big screen.

"Yeah, yeah!" Gage grinned. "She does the splits all the way down, like-" Gage edged his toes out, and Jo was about to stop Gage when Harley brushed past him and took the spoon Jo had dropped.

"Do keep stirring, won't you? I'm ill-inclined to leave burnt sauce on the bottom of the pan." He gave the sauce a few good, hard stirs, and Jo took the spoon up again with a sheepish look to Gage.

"Let's not burn your dinner, a'right, kid?" He touched one finger to the top of the spoon and licked it clean. "Man, Harl knows how to make an alfredo, huh?"

"He's the best." Gage beamed. "Hey, so, will you take me?" He paused and bit his lip. "To the movies?"

"As long as the Father's good with it." Jo hardly even had to think about it, and his mouth kept running. "And if ya really want, you can come to my place for movie night. I got all the Batman movies on VHS, plus a bunch of other real good old stuff. We'll get popcorn and soda, make a night of it."

"Better get a lot of popcorn," Steele advised around the divide between the kitchen and the hall. "The monkey can eat like a horse if you let him." He then grabbed Gage's ear. "And didn't I tell you to start your homework?" He dragged Gage off over a stream of yelps and pleas for mercy, and Harley giggled.

"You're terribly nice to him."

"What can I say?" Jo drew a big A in the sauce and watched it get swallowed by the melting cheese. "I like kids."

Jo, in fact, did. No small wonder Steele had tried to keep him and Gage apart! They made tight buddies, and when Gage got enthusiastic, he got a little wild. Like, when Harley set up a fancy looking board game, Gage damn near vibrated:

"Ohboyohboy, we're really gonna play? You an' me an' Jo are gonna play? Can I be the engineer? I wanna be the engineer! An' Jo can be the captain and Harl can be the navigator!" He bounced from foot to foot. "M'sorry, it'sjustatonoffun, meandDadplayedwhenIwaslittle-butnowhe'salwayssobusy, andifit'sallofus- OH! OH! Can Dad play? He's the best at being the captain! I'ma ask him! DA-" He turned to scream, but was met with the newspaper right in the mouth.

"Gage, cool it!" Steele growled, and gave him another smack with the newspaper for good measure. "If you're gonna make a scene, you don't get to play!" He finished with a third whack: "And stop calling me Dad in front of everyone! It's bad enough you do it when it's just us!" He huffed off, the flaps of his cassock fluttering around him like the grumpy-ass thundercloud he was. Gage stuck his tongue out at his back.

"Meanie." He curled up on one of the benches, knees to his chest and still jiggling. Jo just scratched his head.

"He's awful hard on ya, kid."

"It's okay. Dad knows what's best for m-" Gage stuttered when the newspaper smacked him in the back of the head from across the room, then giggled. "Man, he's got really good aim."

Daddy knows best. Jo thought that was just an old sitcom. Seeing Gage so wired was a good reminder of just how much control Gage needed, which only led Jo to wonder what kind of control he was under.

Steele caught him at it in the kitchen: "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Uh." Jo, wide-eyed like a dog caught lapping out of the toilet bowl, backed out of the only cabinet he'd found with medicine in it, which so far had only yielded Tums, Zantac 24, and Colace. "Aspirin. Got a screaming headache." He rapped his own head, and Steele sneered.

"I don't keep that where the visitors here can get to it. It's locked in my office. Come on." He turned on his heel, and Jo followed him across the main hall. Steele had a metal cabinet behind his desk, and he unlocked it, retrieved a bottle, chucked it at Jo's chest, and locked it tight again. When he looked up, Jo was leaning in to try and sneak a peek. "Alright, what the hell are you actually looking for?"

"Shit, unbunch your panties, Father." Jo dropped the aspirin and put his hands up. "For real? Looking to see Gage's meds. I was gonna Google 'em and see what exactly you're giving him and find out just how cracked his brain is."

"You're still looking in the wrong place, moron." Steele put his hands on his hips. "Get the hell out, before-" Jo nipped in and put his palm over Steele's right hand.

"Don't be stingy, Father." Steele's eyes danced with fury as Jo's fingers delved under his and right into his pocket. "The kid'd tell me if he knew all the details. I'm just a curious boy." He pulled his hand back, with two bottles in it. Steele's ears flamed red.

"How the fuck did you-"

"Hey, little talent of mine. I'm bilingual." Jo winked. "English, and American body language. Could see your hip cocked, figured they'd be-"

Steele's hand was in his other pocket and out in a flash. "First off, don't you dare touch me." Jo didn't have to speak any language to know what that pistol in his face meant. "Second off, give. Them. Back."

"Hey, hey, cool off." Jo slowly set the bottles down and put his hands up again. "I don't speak medicinese anyway." Steele pocketed the pistol. "Why the fuck you carry that thing, anyway?"

"Fuck you, that's why." Steele swiped the bottles back and put them back in his pocket.

"And why the hell are those in your damn pocket?"

"You really need to know?" Steele cocked an eyebrow. "With few exceptions, they're safer on me than anywhere else. If someone breaks in here on a bender and swipes the aspirin, I can buy more aspirin. Gage's medicine's not so easy to come by."

"Oh." Jo scratched his head. "Uh, what exactly is it? I mean, I tried to read it, but those weren't words. Korin-T and H... He... Heb...?"

"Korin-T and..." Steele squinted at the other bottle. "Fuck it, H.B. Gage just calls it his 'meds.'"

"Okay." Jo scrunched his nose up. "Uh, I remember Harl said something about lithium, and Ritalin?"

"That's oversimplifying it. These have lithium in them, and the Korin-T is an older variant on Ritalin that seems to work especially well on children who also have aggression problems. I have to order this shit from Canada. Hell, you bring it to me every other month."

"Oh." Jo could damn near see the red in his own cheeks, and looked away. "Well, I don't open the fucking packages-"

"Small relief there."

"Dick." Jo folded his arms. "But whatever. Guess that's why you don't want them stolen. It's that damn important?"

"Yes, goddamn it, it is." Steele shoved the bottles deep into his pocket. "If Gage misses a day's worth of medicine- even a single fucking day- it would be a goddamned catastrophe. Without his medicine-" Steele patted his side pocket. "Without these, Gage would be..." Steele paused, his tongue stuck to the back of his teeth, eyes low. Finally, he came out with it: "Not Gage."

"What? What would he be, then?"

"Not. Gage. Now will you fuck off already?" Steele fixed Jo with a glare, and Jo bolted. Seemed like a bad idea to tap that particular landmine any more than he already had.

Besides, he'd found something that was a lot better than trying to make nice with an iron wall. Somewhere between "This fucking goofball kid, where the fuck does he get off?" and "Poor kid, all drugged up and he doesn't even shave yet," Jo had developed a weird sort of affection for Gage.

Maybe he was going at Steele all wrong anyway, and besides, Gage was much more interesting than his stiff old Dad.

* * *

Jo liked kids, but it was mostly a "from-a-distance" thing. He didn't know anyone who had kids, unless you counted Ken and Lily, and did Lily even count as a kid anymore? The best he did was waving at playgrounds from his bike. It gave him a weird sort of happiness when somebody waved back. Every once in a while, he'd sit on a park bench and wolf down his cheeseburger while watching the tots in the sand lot. Fuck if he ever told anybody, he wasn't a creep. He just felt kind of happy when kids were happy. It was just sort of nice to watch. That's all. Nothing weird. Just... watching.

That was where Jo started trying to puzzle out Gage. Watching. He was a little older, so there was more to him than stupid laughing and a wild imagination, though there was still plenty of both. First off, there was that huge, obvious crush on the volunteer girl- Sana? Jo sucked at names, and she didn't spare more than a passing glance at him most of the time, but Gage? Gage blushed whenever she came close, he abruptly started and just as quickly abandoned conversations with her (never got too far past "Hi" and "How ya doin'?" before his voice shriveled and died a squeaky death at the top of his register) and denied that he liked her, even a little, when Jo poked his ribs and teased him.

"Ooh, come on, brat, you know you think she's cute." Jo blew on Gage's ear as Sana flounced away from another of their half-baked encounters. Gage shrieked and batted at him.

"No, shut up! It's not like that!" His voice cracked, and Jo laughed again, harder.

"Hey, no big, kid, maybe you can get a girlfriend when your balls drop."

"Says the guy who can't keep a girlfriend for more than twenty minutes!" Gage stuck his tongue out, and Jo just stared, disaffected.

"Okay, that was a pretty good burn, but who the hell told you that?"

"Dad." Gage stuck his tongue out at Jo, and Jo rolled his eyes at the corrupt priest. "And anyway, Sana's not my girlfriend, and I don't like her like that! Just, y'know." His cheeks looked a little pinker. "She's real helpful. I know she's only here 'cause she got in trouble, but she does a lot to-"

"In trouble?" Jo raised an eyebrow.

"Y-yeah." Gage looked left and right, then cupped his hand over his mouth. "Dad said she got caught stealin' from the 7-11 last year. Her mom had lost her job and her little brother was hungry, so she was tryin' to grab some bread and juice, but she got caught on camera. She had to do a whole bunch of community service, and when it was done, Dad hired her on to help out. Now she comes in the morning 'stead of goin' to regular school. She does school in the afternoon and all, but-" His jaw clapped shut, and Jo heard a weary sigh behind him.

"Gage, Father Steele is looking for you." Sana always sounded like she was tapping her foot, and Jo turned and scooted out of her way. "He just saw the math test you left on his chair." Gage yelped and bolted, just as Sana added, "He's in the..." and trailed off when Gage was gone. She sighed again, and gave Jo a look that made the room feel about five degrees colder. "It's the smiley weirdo with the glasses who helps him study, not you, right?"

"Heh." He smirked and tried not to wonder how many people had been told he was an idiot. "I'm pretty good at math, but teaching's more Harl's thing."

"Good." He winced- she was definitely the direct type. No wonder Steele had kept her. "Oh, and also." She set her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows furrowed. "Do me a favor and tell him not to yammer about everyone's business to everyone he talks to." Jo sealed his lips shut, as she teased one of her pigtails over her shoulder, twisting her finger in the loose tips. "I don't care, but Gage knows everyone in here, and some of them might not want everyone to know their stupid sob story. That's all." She brushed past Jo without a second glance, head held high like the haughty little ice queen Jo was starting to figure she was.

Nothing like the bright little ball of sunshine that was Gage. Kid was probably lucky she didn't like him, at least not the way he liked her. Gage was a nice kid, who made time and space for everyone who crossed his path.

He and Harley came up the sidewalk one Saturday morning to see Gage sitting on a park bench outside next to a middle-aged man in rags, tossing bread crumbs to sparrows and pigeons out of a wrinkled paper bag. The man wore a soft smile under his wrinkles, peaceful but warped by age, and talked to Gage in a soft, raspy mutter:

"See, Isaac, they'll learn to like you." He chuckled. Something wet in his throat rattled. Gage didn't seem to notice it, or that his name was not Isaac, as the older man tossed out another handful of crumbs at the sparrows at his feet. "Eat up, little friends. Eat as much as you can."

"They must be hungry, and there's always more coming," Gage commented absently, and shook more crumbs out of his hand.

"Poor little things, all alone in the big city. No Daddy to take care of 'em. We'll do."

"Jo?" Harley tugged his sleeve. Jo had stopped near the door, folded his arms, and watched the little exchange.

"Y'think it's safe?" He kept his voice low and his words vague, but nodded towards them. Harley pursed his lips.

"Terrence, you mean? Terrence is... He's off, but he's generally harmless."

"When he's on his medication," Steele grumbled behind them, and Jo jumped. He'd come up silently, but Jo got the feeling he hadn't been far away. "I told him I'd do what I could to help him, but he had to seek help himself. He was on a medical hold at the VA, and based on how he's talking, I'm going to have to have him admitted again soon."

"Isaac, sit a while longer," Terrence muttered as Gage turned towards Jo, Harley, and Steele and waved. He tapped Gage's shoulder, and pointed a knotted, shaking finger at a large black bird that had landed nearby. "See? The starling's showed up."

"Oh, yeah!" Gage scrabbled for the bag and quickly cast some bread scraps in the larger bird's direction. "Is he the same one from yesterday?"

"Just might be, son." Terrence chuckled as the starling hopped closer. "Looks like he's wearing the same green band, y'see? Don't usually see just one starling. Usually they come in great big flocks like clouds and live in great big trees gone black with the lot of them, and leave enough black feathers to stuff a big black mattress." Gage giggled.

"Y'think he's lonely?"

"He has us, doesn't he?"

"Hmph." Steele was ready to spit, lip curled in an ugly sneer. "'Isaac' again."

"Was he...?" Harley glanced to Steele, who nodded. "Oh. Oh, I see." He leaned close to Jo and whispered, "To our best understanding, Terrence served in the second Iraq invasion, and served three consecutive deployments. During the third of these, his young son fell asleep in bed one night and simply did not wake up the next morning. His wife sold their home out from under him and vanished with all of his bank information, and he didn't know his son was dead until he returned home six months later. Terrence simply didn't have the capacity to track his wife down and take his share. He's been rather lost since."

"Like a bird that flew off and found out he had nowhere to land," Steele grumbled. "I told him to seek psychiatric help. He smiles and nods. If one of his flashbacks puts Gage in harm's way, I won't let him come back."

"Gage doesn't mind, though." Harley nodded to the pair, still seated contently and watching the starling around the sparrows. The pigeons were backing off, but the starling had spread his wings over a little sparrow, hopping close and urging him towards the crumbs. Gage laughed as the two danced around each other.

"No, you should eat! He's got his share!"

"Maybe he thinks the sparrows are his flock now." Terrence sat back, as if in a daze. "The sparrows look like juvenile starlings. Maybe he thinks he's a cuckoo." He laughed, then coughed into his hand, and Gage knelt down.

"He's just a baby, huh?" He held his hands out, cupped in front of the sparrow. Harley and Steele both started, as the sparrow willingly hopped up into his hands. The starling shrieked, and Gage laughed and released the little bird, and it flew off. Harley and Steele relaxed, though Steele played it off by looking away. "Yeah, maybe he thinks he's his Daddy now." Gage rose up to his feet and carefully stepped over the birds. "Well, I hope he flies back to his flock soon. I better run, Mr. Terrence."

"He won't. Won't fly off 'less he knows he's got somewhere to land. Birds are smart enough to know how free they are." Gage's farewell seemed to fly right over his head, and Terrence stayed slumped on the bench as Gage jogged up to Harley.

"Dad called you 'bout my math test?"

"He did." Harley beamed, and Gage hunched his shoulders and lowered his eyes. "But I believe the Father asked us to go grocery shopping for him first. Get the grocery list for me, we'll wait." Gage trudged past Jo, Harley, and Steele, then ran into the shelter. Steele sighed and whipped out a cigarette, and Jo scratched the back of his head and cast Steele a sidelong glance.

"Kid like that, growing up here- where the hell is he supposed to land?"

"It's not just about where, idiot," Steele grumbled around his cigarette, and took the first drag with a flourish of his fingers. "Doesn't have to be a place."

Jo would have demanded the asshole be a lot less mysterious about whatever he was getting at, but Gage returned with the grocery list and the conversation was over. Terrence stayed, huddled on the bench, talking to the birds.

"Just like yesterday. Just like every day. At least you're happy, aren't ya?"

Gage went on with their business like the weird encounter with Terrence hadn't even happened, idly chatting with Harley and Jo all the way to, through, and back from the grocery store. He carried most of the bags looped in his arms, and never let a moment of silence sit for too long. Even those quiet moments that Jo kind of liked, with Harley there to make them feel a little less empty, Gage gabbed through them about the Batman comic he had just finished, the next big movies coming out, a commercial he saw, something someone heard someone else say at school, "Didja hear? Izzit true?" Jo was almost sure the kid only shut his mouth when Harley was talking, and sometimes only barely then. He wondered how he breathed.

"Jeez, no wonder you're such an idiot." He rapped on Gage's head and interrupted his ramble about the Wolverine movie. "Not getting enough air to your brain."

"Hey, I am not an idiot!" Gage snapped back at Jo, whipping around so fast the bags he was carrying swung around him like flails. Jo snickered and slowed a step so they wouldn't hit him.

"Maybe talk less, listen more. You might learn something!"

"I listen plenty!"

"Your grades don't say so."

"Shut up!" The two started up squabbling, and Harley heaved a soft, content little sigh, until they reached the mission door. Steele was propped against a post, cigarette in his mouth, and looking especially distant. He took some of Gage's bags and shoved them onto Jo.

"The Prince is here again."

"He is?" Gage cocked his head, and Steele gestured in. There was a skinny boy in clothes far too large for him, pale but for bruises on his neck and arms, long hair in tangled dreadlocks tied up behind his head, shivering in the vestibule. Gage laid down the rest of his bags at Harley's feet and ran right in.

"Hey, you came back!" Gage opened his arms right up. "Didja wanna play checkers with me, or do you just wanna go watch TV?" The other boy didn't say anything, but Gage grinned. "I know. You wanna play chess. Okay, just go easy on me. I'm still really bad." He pushed the door open, and the boy followed Gage in. Harley focused his gaze on Steele, who merely blew a smoke ring.

"I already called the cops. Gave them the mandated reporter spiel. They said that unless Nathan complains, there's nothing they can do." Jo quickly put together what Steele hadn't said.

"How many times have you had to call the cops for that kid showing up at your door looking like he walked through a tenderizer?"

"I lost count a while ago." Steele stubbed his cigarette butt on the concrete pillar. "He goes to Gage's school, and followed him home one day. He doesn't talk. I don't know if he doesn't or he can't."

"Make the little idiot write it down, then!"

"He won't, stupid. You think I haven't tried?" Steele was already digging out another Marlboro. "And of course, his father won't admit a thing. You know." He cocked his head from side to side, imitating someone big and blustery without raising his voice: "Don't you Americans hit your children?" Harley scoffed, and Jo realized he hadn't seen him wearing an uglier look since the day they met. Steele just spat at the ground. "Anything serious, the asshole says it was an accident, and he bruises so easily because he's so pale and skinny. Nathan doesn't contradict him. His mother won't talk, either, and that's the end of that."

"Christ. We know what's wrong." Jo shook his head. "Hell, I just heard about it and I know what's going on. Why can't the cops just-"

"Proof, Joel." Harley's anger had wiped away into a sad little smile, like he hadn't been chomping at the bit a moment ago. "Even if the police were to take him away, we would have no proof that he'd done anything wrong, Nathan would be returned to his family, and the abuse would, more than likely, ramp up immensely."

"I've had the cops out here five goddamn times, all over the month after the first time he showed up here. They try to take his statement, but he doesn't talk." Steele shook his head. "They stopped bothering. Just told me to take his statement when he was ready to talk, and record it on tape or something."

"So what the hell is he doing with Gage?" Jo had to light up after watching Steele choke down and snuff his second Marlboro. Steele sighed.

"First time he showed up here was two years ago. Split lip. Black eye. Bruises on his arm and neck. He came in and sat down, and Gage went up and asked him his name and if he could play with him like nothing was wrong. Nathan didn't introduce himself, but he said the only thing I've ever heard him say: 'You know how to play chess?'" Steele sighed. "He didn't. Nathan showed him how all the pieces moved, and proceeded to punish him in every game they've played since. I've tried to coach Gage between visits, but I've watched him. He's master-level, for fourteen." Steele actually chuckled through a bitter sneer. "Gage calls him the Chess Prince. Of course, I'm not sure they've ever properly introduced themselves to one another."

"They sit there and play chess. The kid gets the shit kicked out of him, and he comes here and plays fucking games?" Jo shook his head and spat his finished cigarette at the gutter. Harley brushed his fingers to Jo's elbow.

"It's more than that. Nathan doesn't talk, but Gage does." He tugged Jo's sleeve, just enough, and led him inside. Jo could see Gage yakking away, like usual, right over Nathan's hunched head and crooked neck and the chess board between them. Nathan was smiling as Gage expounded on exactly how many grapes he had managed to stuff in his mouth at lunch that day. Steele grunted behind them.

"See, at home, he's just a dog to be kicked. Here, he has a monkey who can make him feel like a man."

"Or at least human," Harley added. "Normal. A normal little boy with a normal little playmate." Jo squinted at the scene a moment longer, then nodded back to Steele.

"Does Gage-"

"Gage is fully aware of what happens to him at home." Steele narrowed his eyes to thin, angry little slits, looking like he could shoot lasers at what or whoever was pissing him off. "He doesn't even have to be told to treat him gently. He knows. He understands."

Jo observed a minute longer as Gage chatted Nathan up, carrying the conversation for both of them. On one hand, it was pretty fucking sad that Gage was what was propping this kid up. On the other, it was weird to see the shrimpy noisebox turn out to be exactly what someone else needed. He squinted over to Harley.

"I guess maybe we oughta make the two of 'em some lunch."

"Sounds like a lovely idea." Harley smiled. "Can you put cheese between two slices of bread?"

Jo could make grilled cheese, or at least the sandwich part. Harley did the frying, while Jo stirred a huge pot of tomato soup. Gage sat with a mute Nathan and a chessboard between them, even as lunch landed at their elbows. Gage bent so easily, without ever breaking. It was weird. It was crazy.

Jo liked the little brat.

"Yo, Padre." Jo dropped Father Steele's sandwich on top of the paperwork in his stack, and shoved another stack aside to make room for the soup bowl. "Remember that arcade I tol'ja bout?"

"I don't listen to most of what you say." Steele didn't look at the food, engrossed with what appeared to be an article on how to stretch budgets when cooking for crowds.

Jo's upper lip curled over, but he folded his arms and cocked his head back and went on, "Yeah, well, there's an awesome arcade about three blocks north. Golden Monkey. S'got a jungle gym, all the newest arcade games, and- seriously- some of the best pizza in town. It ain't no Chuck-E-Cheese, that's fer damn sure. I wanna take Gage there for dinner and games next Saturday night."

"No." Steele moved his magazine up a little, as if to make clear that he was putting up a wall. Jo curled a finger down over the top of the magazine and folded it down.

"Does he ever go anywhere that's straight-up fun? He's here with you most of the time hanging out with drifters, or he goes to school, or you send him out with Harl an' me."

"I am not sending him out into this hellhole of a city at night."

"Then lunch!"

"No means no." Jo was about to get angry, until a cool voice cut in from the door.

"My, my, Father, would it really be so bad?" Harley had a cup of tea and a handful of pills. "He's still a child, after all." He put the medicine down by Steele's hand, which Steele snatched back up before Jo could get a look, but Harley tilted his head forward and smiled knowingly at Steele. "Not all of us want to grow up so quickly, with gray hairs at the temples and high blood pressure before we reach thirty."

"Screw you." Steele took the pills with a gulp of tea and exhaled sharply. "Fine. You get him to pass his make-up math test, and I'll get someone to watch here for a few hours and go with you."

There was a soft gasp from the door, and all three just barely caught a glimpse of wild brown hair and half-tied tennis shoes vanishing from the hall to the main room. Harley spent the rest of the day reviewing algebra with Gage, and he didn't ask about Batman even once.

Sure enough, Gage brought home a 74 on his make-up test, and that Saturday night, Jo and Harley waited in the front vestibule of the mission for Gage and Father Steele. It was a nice night, kind of humid but not too bad. It might rain in the next few days, but the weathermen were being indecisive. Typical for May, really. Jo had tried to clean up some- Harley had showed him the wonders of an iron, and his jacket looked the best it had since he bought it. However, he was sure it was wrinkling more by the second.

"The hell is the hold up?" Jo pulled his Zippo out and fidgeted with the flint. Harley shrugged.

"Father Steele is very uncomfortable leaving the mission in any other hands. It's his responsibility, and he takes it seriously. I imagine we're just waiting for his stand-in." Harley crossed and uncrossed his legs, and rolled his shoulders back against the wall. "Any reason you're so anxious to go?"

"I dunno." Jo lowered his eyes, and tossed and caught his lighter once. "I guess I just want this to go right."

"Are you trying to impress somebody?" Harley fixed Jo with an interested gaze, which Jo avoided with a smirk and a flip of his hair.

"Well, yeah. Might be some cute girls there, and I don't wanna wilt before we get to 'em-"

The doors swung open, and a large, broad-shouldered man wearing a collared shirt and blue jeans held the door for a smaller man in a cassock that looked a bit too large for him, with long, sideswept hair. Both were dark-skinned and dark-haired and dark-eyed, and Jo caught a glimpse of facial scars on both sides of the Father's mouth as he passed. Harley threw the other door open and held it. "Father Shalimar, Deacon Hassan! Did Father Steele call you in?"

"He did." Father Shalimar's voice was accented and husky, but rather high. Jo felt something ping wrong in his head, but couldn't place it. Father Shalimar took Jo in for a moment, and seemed unimpressed, but looked back to Harley and continued with a roll of his eyes. "He trusts nobody else. He's fortunate I was available."

"And where the Father goes," Deacon Hassan added with a bright, toothy smile and a very heavy Indian accent, "I go."

"Wonderful, simply wonderful." Harley clasped his hands, but Shalimar judged him a moment longer.

"Have... we met?"

"Ah." Harley timidly extended a hand. "Harley Cho."

Shalimar's eyes flashed. "You have a brother?"

"I don't, no." Harley's smile dropped, just a little. His hands dropped flat to his sides. "I suppose this is the first we've met, then."

Father Shalimar stared for a moment, eyes narrow and knowing. Deacon Hassan leaned in and whispered something in a language Jo didn't know that didn't sound like anything he'd heard out of Shangri-la, and Shalimar replied in the same language. Shalimar turned past, his hair flipping back, and entered the mission. "Father Steele!"

Harley's face fell as the door shut behind them, and Jo tapped his shoulder. "You knew them before?"

"Mm." Harley nodded, and that sadness that Jo had been trying to stave off bled through his smile. "I imagine Father Steele has some explaining to do."

Sure enough, Gage came out alone to wait with Jo and Harley. He'd obviously tried very hard to comb his hair into cooperating, and ended up slicking it back with way too much strong-smelling gel. Bits of it still stuck up, but he made up for looking less than sharp by wearing pants that weren't too worn out (except where he'd cut off the bottoms so he wouldn't step on the hems) and a shirt that wasn't too wrinkled. Jo, of course, ruffled his hair until most of the gel flaked off and it all stuck up again. Gage whined. "What'd'ja do that for?!"

"You wanna look nice for girls, right?" Jo grinned. "Just be yourself, kid. That's how people like you best."

"Says you!" Gage tried to bat him off, but Jo clapped his shoulder hard.

"Hey, just because I can't keep a girlfriend doesn't mean I don't get plenty."

"Yeah, well-" Gage started to fire back, and Harley stood back and observed. He managed a tiny smile, and even started to giggle as they argued. The door slammed open again, and Father Steele, still wearing a collared shirt over a set of battered blue jeans and with zero effort put into trying to comb his hair, strode out.

"Alright, we're going."

"Father." Harley's smile faded, and he started towards him with an outstretched hand. Steele pinned him with the kind of look that could kill butterflies, but Harley quickly smiled again.

"It's as I said." Steele lit up a Marlboro and opened the front door. "Jo, you know where we're going."

Goddamn, did Jo want to ask about that, but instead, he led the charge across three streets, with Gage two steps behind him and Harley and Steele taking up the rear. Gage's eyes were as wide as saucers when it came into view. "Whoa!" He pointed up at the bright neon lights. "We're goin' there?!"

"You got that right, kid!" Jo laughed and threw an arm around him. He didn't blame him for being impressed. The Golden Monkey Arcade was a four-story fixture on the corner of what used to be rowhouses and now was a line of restaurants and offices, one of the few bright spots in the Shangri-La quarter. Windows had been knocked out and replaced with plexiglass to let the tubes for the jungle gym dip out and around in a few places, and it was all lit up with gold and green lights in sharp, jagged designs around the building, like a square-cornered river winding its way around the building. The highlight was of an Aztec-looking monkey design over the door, and Jo explained: "See, there was this game show on when I was a kid, Legends of the Hidden Temple, and the big end game was to get this cool golden monkey statue to win the big prize, and the owner of this place sort of wanted to bring that back. He couldn't get city approval for a lot of the challenge games they had in the show, so he settled for just sort of designing it like the show and making it a regular kid's arcade, like what they used to have back in the nineties." Jo dropped his cigarette into the gutter as they closed in. "You don't see 'em like this any more. Smart guy here, though, he got this local pizza shop to set up downstairs, 'cause what do kids love more than pizza? Good pizza put butts in seats, and while you're there, you play a round of whatever hot game's just come out. I made a delivery there when they were getting ready to open up, and they gave me a slice of pizza to say thanks. Now I try to go back and visit every couple of months, whenever I'm in the mood for pizza, Street Fighter, and DDR."

"DDR?" Gage cocked his head. Jo just laughed.

"Oh, man. Kid, you know how to dance at all?"

The interior was brightly, garishly lit, with the same green and gold neon lighting running around the rim of the ceiling. The black tiles sparkled in the lights, little flints of something shiny like mirrors that didn't smudge under their feet. The tube jungle was the central fixture of the whole building, rooted like a tree in the center of the room and looping in and around other features. Games were organized by section, from classic fighters in a quarter of the third floor and recent fighters halfway around the circle, to the 4-D games and dance games on the first floor. Gage gaped around, eyes as big and wide and bright as a street lamp. Jo jingled a great big pocketful of quarters near Gage's ear, and he grinned.

"We're gonna have so much fun, dude."

Father Steele made a beeline for the back of the room, where the pizza kitchen sat on red tile against a red brick wall, and leaned on the sneeze guard until they gave him attention, and Jo led Gage over to the DDR machine. It was blaring music, and there was a short line already. Jo leaned down and explained how it was played. Gage nodded a few dozen times, then turned to Jo.

"How 'bout you just show me?"

Jo dropped the money in and picked an easy song. "Just like I said. Stomp the arrows when they reach the top of the screen." He folded his jacket on the ground behind him, then stepped back and grabbed the bar. "Now, don't look at my screen. I got mine on Expert. And don't feel bad 'cause my score's so high, neither. It's your first go, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Gage pumped his fists, and stomped on the start button.

Jo wouldn't say he was great at the game, but he got some perfect and plenty of good hits. He turned some, used the bar for balance, and his score was pretty damn good, if he did say so. He even got a chance to wink at a few pretty girls watching him. Gage didn't even seem to look up or away, and Jo peeked at his score.

Every step was perfect, and his score was skyrocketing. Gage had even picked up on using the bar to keep his balance. Jo almost missed a step, but hit double time. Shit, he couldn't let the kid overtake him on game-fucking-one!

Two minutes later, Jo figured "couldn't" wasn't the right word to use. Somehow, Gage outdid him, and jumped and whooped in celebration. "That was great! I even won a free game!" He yanked Jo's wrist. "Come on, let's do a faster one!" Jo looked over his shoulder helplessly, where Harley waited on the barrier between the pizza kitchen and the game room. He waved, beaming like sunshine, and shit, Jo couldn't risk making him not smile right now.

"You got it, kid." Jo turned and cranked up Gage's difficulty setting.

Five free games later, Jo was sweating and panting, arms and forehead shining under the green lights, hands on his knees, as Gage cheered and jumped in place. "That's six perfects in a row! This is awesome! Jojo!" He shoved Jo, and he stumbled until he caught the bar. "Again! Again!"

"Kid, I'm dyin' over here!" Jo pulled himself back up, shouting to be heard over the blaring music. "You're supposed to give the free games to a cute girl, not run your Player-Two into the ground!" Jo slicked the sweat from his brow and pushed his hair back, to a soft giggle near his elbow.

"Your score's not too shabby, either." Harley hopped up onto the pad. "Why don't you go have some pizza? Your meat lover's pie is getting cold, and I'd like to try this." Jo flipped his hair back and beamed at Harley.

"I think I love you right now, man." Harley was taken aback for a moment, then smiled back, his face oddly tight.

"Father Steele has a table. You can leave your jacket there." Harley dipped down to pick up Jo's jacket, and Jo stepped off the pad as Gage showed Harley how to change the difficulty.

"You just step on the arrows, okay? I'll put it on a really slow song."

"Like an old pro already," Jo chuckled, and waved over his shoulder as he turned for the dining area.

One good way of keeping cheese and grease off the tiles was by enforcing a "no-eating-outside-of-this-area" rule, and Jo pushed through the gate that held a great big sign telling him as much. The pizza kitchen was open air, so anyone could watch the chefs tossing and catching dough rounds and slathering them with thick, chunky tomato sauce and freshly-shredded mozzarella, and the dining room was brightly lit with yellow and orange orbs hanging from a beam between the rails on the third floor. Steele was eating through his portion of a personal pan anchovy pizza while reading a newspaper, and Jo spotted a pile of mayonnaise on his plate. He was about to ask, when he saw Steele dip the pizza in the mayonnaise and take a bite with a huge glob wiggling on the tip. "I think I've lost my appetite. Anchovies? Mayo?"

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it." Steele tugged his plate away. "And try your own. This one's mine."

"No thanks, asshole." Jo took the empty chair across from Steele's and slung his jacket onto it. Harley had left him an empty Styrofoam cup, and there was a select-your-flavor soda machine behind Steele. "You know, I talk smart atcha, but I wanna thank you. This was a real nice thing to do for Gage."

"I didn't do shit but walk three blocks and buy overpriced pizza." He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Pretty damn good overpriced pizza, though."

"Tol'ja." Jo swung back around the chair and sat down, nudged an empty salad bowl out of his way, and took two slices of overloaded meat-lover's onto his plate. "But this was all my idea, and only a little of my money. You were against it before, but you caved, and that was nice. Thanks."

Steele's eyes ran over the paper, and he finally grunted in response. Jo figured that was the best he was going to get, until Steele spoke up: "Why the hell do you care, anyway?"

"I thought I said already. I like the kid. I like kids. Gage is an awesome guy, and for the kinda life he lives, he's pretty strong." Jo took a bite of his pizza, chewed pensively, and swallowed. "It's weird that he's so damn nice. I mean, you're pretty much his Dad, and no offense, but you're not a nice guy."

"Oh, fuck off." Steele took a hard bite out of his pizza, jaw snapping, and vanished behind his newspaper. Jo smirked.

"What, are you embarrassed, Daddy?"

Quick as a camera, Steele rolled up his newspaper and brought it down hard on Jo's head, and Jo had to blink a few times to clear the little white specks flashing in his eyes. "Thank your lucky stars I didn't bring my gun."

"Thank you, lucky star," Jo moaned, and smoothed his hair down. "I hope you're in a hot lady constellation." Steele scoffed, and Jo sat back up and picked up his pizza. "But, I'm bein' serious. How'd a kid like that end up with you? Is Gage a cousin of yours or something? You definitely ain't closely related, if you're family at all."

"He's my legal ward. And it's a long story."

There was a loud cheer behind them, and Jo turned to check. Gage had attracted a large crowd of onlookers, and was dancing through the Extreme difficulty setting with ease. "Lookin' at all the free replays the kid's racking up, we got time."

Steele sighed. His eyes traveled over Gage and the rest of the room, and he put his elbow down on the table. "Fine. Guess if I'm stuck with you, you should know."

Jo kicked his feet out. "Like Velcro, dipshit. Now spill."

"Fuck you."

"Ain't you supposed to be celibate?"

"Fuck off." Steele finished his pizza and put his paper down. "Look, here's the deal."

"Six years ago. I was apprenticing as a priest at K-1 under Cardinal Jakobi. I was taking out the trash and having a smoke." Steele drummed his fingers on the table, his face at a resting, grouchy neutral. "I'd heard some reports of wild animals stealing from the cans in our area, probably a lost raccoon or something, so I kept my eyes open in case I could see what it was. I was just finishing my smoke when I heard the pest rattling around in the dumpster." Steele shrugged one shoulder. "Open it up, and surprise, surprise, there's the culprit. Scrawny, skinny, crazy little brat wearing rags, with a birds' nest of brown hair, a big, hungry mouth, and wild eyes." His lips curled in disgust, like he could smell the kid three blocks away and six years later. "He snarled at me at first, and I didn't know what to do but stare at him. He calmed down after about ten seconds of a staring contest, and reached for my head." Steele made air quotes. "Grabbing at my hair like an idiot, whining: 'Sun, sun.'"

Jo could almost hear that far off, distant little voice, senselessly whispering it, "Sun, sun," tiny hand outstretched for a golden head lit up by orange streetlights.

"If I were smart, I'd've shut the dumpster and run. Little idiot got himself stuck in there, let him figure it out." Jo scowled, but then realized Steele was probably kidding. Maybe. God, he hoped. "But for whatever stupid reason, I took him out and took him back with me, and the Cardinal and I drove him straight to a hospital." Steele ran his hand back through his hair, and his eyes went to his hand when he pulled it away. He looked exhausted, probably a mirror of his memories. "I lived at that hospital for a week. Doctors, social workers, head shrinkers paraded through to check him out, like he was some sort of freak show. They guessed he was six from his teeth, but he was only as big as a four year old, and on the low end of that. Emaciated. He could barely talk, didn't know more than fifty words. It's a miracle he was house broken, or at least knew not to do his business in his pants. Took me a month to stop him from pissing or shitting in any available hole when we did take him home. The nurses tried to shave him to get the mats out of his hair, and he freaked out. Oh, and there's that. Little bastard pitched fits. Wouldn't interact with anyone or anything unless I was sitting there beside him, because when I was, he was the same happy, chatty, cute little fuck dancing over there. If I wasn't..." Steele trailed off, and just sighed right from the base of himself. Jo almost didn't want to know, but almost didn't cut it. Steele found words again before Jo could, spat through a tight jaw. "The doctors guessed he spent his infancy locked up, alone, with nobody to talk to him or socialize him. Social workers wanted to find his parents, but if that's true, then fuck whatever fucking genetic slip-n-slide he shot down. He might as well have been shat out of a rock."

Jo had a revelation in that moment: whatever shit he gave the man, he never wanted to seriously fuck with Steele again. Never mind the asshole who shoved a gun in his face if he didn't toe the line, never mind the shouting, swearing, grabbing ears and hair and clothes, or beatings with a newspaper. That deep, dark, ugly anger that Jo could see he held towards whoever took the first step to Gage ending up in that dumpster, that was the real danger. The moment Jo recognized that, Steele had released his anger and taken a long gulp of his drink. Jo smelled iced coffee, and Steele seemed to relax into his usual, flat scowl.

"The best theory I heard, and the most forgivable, is that his mother was enslaved in some rich fuck's basement."

"Slavery's illegal."

"You think some people give a fuck? There's thousands of slaves in this country, they're just locked up in basements as free house labor or chained in bedrooms instead of picking cotton in the fields. Most of them are still out of Africa, but the Shangri-La empire's a real close second when it comes to human exports." Steele sighed. "Maybe he had some mother risk her life to get him out, but couldn't save herself. Or it could've just been that nobody cared enough about him to treat him like a fucking human being. Whatever the case, they never found where he came from, and the day I turned eighteen, Cardinal Jakobi turned him over to me." Steele's face contorted with familiar disgust, a neat and easy mask that he slipped on like lotion. "Hell of a present. 'Congratulations on becoming an adult. Have a monkey.' I've been his legal guardian since." He paused, the mask wiping the same as Harley's did sometimes. "He's a good kid, though. Energetic. For being illiterate at seven, he's smart now, much smarter than his grades suggest. Makes friends with everyone he meets."

"Ha." Jo couldn't hold it back, but then, he'd never been especially good at keeping that big mouth of his shut. "You put up a real good front, Father. If I didn't know you, I'd think you didn't give a shit. Turns out Father Cold Grey Steele's not such an ice queen after all!"

"Oh, shut up." Steele took another gulp of his coffee and fumed.

"What, you cry when he gets hurt, don't you, Macho Priest?" Jo kicked back in his seat, smirking, and rocked on the back two legs of his chair.

"What would be the point of crying?" Steele unfolded his newspaper.

"'Cause you're secretly just a giant softie." Jo tilted back and slung his hands into his pockets, oozing smug confidence. "You act like a great big dick to everyone, but you're softer than Hugh Hefner without his Viagra."

Steele made a face, and Jo didn't even see his leg sweep before he toppled to the ground in a graceless heap of battered blue jeans and lanky limbs, chair over his face. He huffed indignantly, and scowled up at Steele's smirk, which had clearly just sponged off all of Jo's smug. "Y'know." He set his elbow on the ground and his chin in his hand. "Ain't so bad to care. You ever tell the kid you care? He might have trouble telling sometimes."

"Gage and I have an understanding. He understands me." Steele unfolded his paper again. "Now eat your heart attack pizza before Gage gets tired of that game and comes to devour the rest. The boy's a bottomless pit." He rolled his eyes. "The way he eats sometimes, you'd think nobody had ever fed him before." The wall was up, and Steele was closed off. Jo grumbled and got up, replaced the chair, and looked back over his shoulder again. Gage and Harley were still playing. The line waiting for the machine had dispersed, though the crowd remained around him. He looked over the backs of the people watching Harley, and a frown creased his face. He ate his pizza with his eyes roving the crowd.

Gage, meanwhile, was shuffling through the songs on the list as Harley tried to slick his sweat from his eyes and cleaned his glasses. "Ah, man, there's so many!" He stomped on the buttons a few times. "I wanna try 'em all!"

"My, my," Harley wheezed, and checked his pulse on his neck. "Eventually, we will. Just, stall the timer, would you?"

"You got it!" Gage stomped on the buttons as Harley caught his breath. He slowly raised his head again to see Jo watching intently from the dining area. He lifted a languid hand to wave, and Harley happily waved back.

"I do hope those two are alright together, without one of us as intermediary." He cast Gage a suspect smile. "They go together as well as milk and vinegar."

Gage giggled. "I dunno about that." He nodded towards Father Steele. "Dad likes Jo, a lot."

"Oh? Do you think so?"

"Well, yeah, duh." Gage grinned and set his hands on his hips. "If he didn't like him, at least a little, he wouldn't talk to him. Plus, I heard him talking, and he was saying how he didn't care if he had to wait, he didn't want anybody but Jo making the deliveries. I think Dad trusts him, or something. It's like, you're his best friend, and all, but he just knows him and gets him."

"Is... that so?" Harley puzzled on this, working it through his mind. Gage shrugged and changed the song a few more times.

"Well, you've known him like a month. Dad acts like he's known him for years." Gage held his hands out, palms forward, laughing. "Don't get me wrong, you can make best friends really quick. I do!" He numbered on his fingers: "Like, you and Jo are my best friends, and the Chess Prince is my best friend, and Terrence is my best friend, and Sana's my best friend even if she says she's not, I mean, I got a lot of best friends and I don't know everything about all of them!" He spread his fingers out, numbering the stars, then grinned knowingly at Harley. "Dad, Dad knows everything about everyone. And I don't know everything about Jo, but even if he's kind of a jerk and he teases me sometimes, he's nice. And like he said, he's the coolest guy I know. Plus, he makes you happy." Gage paused and waited for Harley to say something or contradict him, but Harley's gaze fell, his eyelashes lowered, and a strange, secretive smile stole over him. "Harl?"

"Yes. I think I see. Perhaps it's more like vanilla ice cream and cinnamon. One wouldn't think they would go well together, and the sweet might clash with the spice, but really, they make a decent pair." Harley nodded to himself, then beamed at Gage, finger raised to make a point. "Besides, milk and vinegar, in the right proportions, can be used instead of buttermilk in a pinch, and you do like buttermilk pancakes."

"You're darn right I do!" Gage grinned, but he suddenly jolted in surprise. "Uh, Harl-"

"Pardon me, sir." A soft voice sounded beside Harley, and he turned to see a thin man wearing a hooded jacket smiling up at him, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other out, palm up. "I could use some change, and I've got no small bills. Can you spare a dollar? I'll give you what I have."

"Ah." Harley fished in his back pocket, and let his eyes roll up and away towards the ceiling to avoid the man's uncanny glare and snakelike little smile. He almost expected him to flick his tongue out to taste the processed air around them. However, he accepted the bill Harley offered him, and his fingers dragged over Harley's hand as he took it.

"You're kind, Mr. Cho. Here." He withdrew his other hand from his pocket, and pennies and nickels poured out and onto Harley. Harley inhaled sharply and caught as much as he could, and the man walked away, laughing, "Change isn't so easy, Mr. Cho!"

Harley's cheeks burned, and he and Gage knelt down to pick the coins off the game pad and the tile. "What a jerk!" Gage exhorted, and Harley could only nod. "How'd he know your name, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Harley thought, and the burn in his cheeks whisked back, leaving only a very cold truth. "Oh. Oh, you're right. How did..."

"Yo." Harley jumped, clutching hands and coins to his chest as he looked and found Jo standing in front of him, eyebrow up. "Uh, you okay, man?"

"Oh! Oh, yes. Fine." Jo didn't believe that big, bright smile for a second, and he folded his arms to match Harley's posture.

"If you say so." He nodded to Gage. "Hey twerp, go get some pizza."

"M'not a twerp!"

"It's double bacon meat lovers."

Gage was gone in a blur of battered polo shirt and brown camouflage tennis shoes, and Jo finished picking up the coins around Harley's feet. "Dropped some money?"

"Something like that, yes." Harley pooled the coins in his hands and put them into his back pocket.

"Huh." Jo cocked his head. There was something weird in Harley's expression, something tight and closed under his pressed smile. Nothing he wanted to press on right now. They were having too nice of a night, damn it, he had to do something to loosen him up. "So, uh, how's your game going?"

"Ah, well." Harley glanced at his score next to Gage's score that still flared and glowed, little fireworks exploding around wavering numbers. "I'm afraid I'm still learning." He smiled sheepishly. "Gage is, er, enthusiastic in his tempo selections, and I'm a little out of shape."

"Jeez. Little prick must'a thought you'd be able to keep up with me." Jo swung around the back of the game and hopped up onto the pad. "Looks like you've got like six games still up on here! Kid was kickin' some ass. How about you and me do a couple easy ones together?" Jo stomped down the row to one of the beginner songs, and gave Harley a charming little grin. "You gotta start at the bottom, yeah? You and me can practice 'til you get good."

"If you're sure you won't be too bored."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I'd just upchuck if I tried the crazy extreme shit right now." Jo chuckled glibly and tucked his hair back behind his ears. "It'd be a shame to waste all that pizza and coke." He hit the start. "Just take it slow, okay? You can watch me for a round, if ya think it'll help."

"No, I could use the exercise. I'll never increase my lung function if I don't increase blood flow sometimes." Jo nodded, pretending he understood more than a third of that, as Harley shook his arms out and set his shoulders back. The coins jingled, heavy against his leg, but Harley cast Jo an auspicious little smile over the intro music. "You were mentioning showing me some exercises, some of your Sunday routine. If you can start slowly, I might like that."

"I just might like that too." Jo grinned, and took the first step. "Think of it like your little keyboard, man. Up, down, left, right, just make your feet like your fingers."

"Oh dear, the musculature doesn't quite match up at all." He laughed, not one of those little forced ones, a real one, a full one, and it felt good in Jo's ears.

They played the last six games together, Jo taking each one like a breezy walk, Harley stumbling on the quick steps and hovering, confused, between the slow, but he walked off still laughing, still smiling, and they returned to the table with Steele when the free games ran out. The pizza platter was empty, and Jo couldn't help another laugh. "Couldn't help yourself, huh? Was the ham calling your name, or you save that unholy temptation for Easter only?"

"Gage finished it," Steele answered at even tempo from behind his second newspaper. Jo had to do a double take.

"That was a large. I had three slices, and I don't think I'll need to eat for a week." Jo felt a little hollow even saying it. "What, did he put it in his fucking pocket?"

"I told you. Bottomless pit."

"Where is he?" Harley looked around pointedly, head and neck stiff like a squirrel who was certain there was an acorn somewhere very close. Steele shrugged a little.

"He said something about the hamster tunnels." Steele nodded at the tube maze that climbed from the floor to the roof high, high above, and Jo frowned.

"Y'mean in the jungle gym?"

"Hey, Jojo!" Jo whipped his head up, to see Gage in one of the clear end tubes ten feet over their heads, banging on the plastic. "Come on, you gotta see this!"

"The hell, kid, I'm way too big!" Jo spread his arms out from his chest to demonstrate, but Gage stuck his tongue out at him and vanished back into the opaque yellow and red tube. Steele folded the top of his paper over.

"I suggest you go get him."

"Awh-" Jo started to moan, but Harley giggled and patted his back.

"I'll hold your boots." Between his blithe, insisting smile and Steele starting to roll his newspaper again, Jo didn't have much choice.

The sign on the outside of the jungle gym might have said "Ages 6-13 only," but Jo really wasn't in the mood to get smacked with a rolled up newspaper again. He tied his hair back in the hopes it wouldn't get tangled in the little bolts heads inside the tube. His shoulders were almost too broad for the opening, but almost wasn't good enough. He clambered in and tried to figure out which way it was to get to Gage, grumbling gruff apologies at the little kids who complained and had to go around him, until he heard that familiar voice cracking above him.

"C'mon, Jojo, this way!" He looked to see Gage hanging off a rung ladder, and waved an arm up. He climbed up, and Jo groaned and changed directions.

"Kid, I'm way too old for this!"

"No way! You're just a big kid anyway, aren'cha?" Gage tilted his face down to stick his tongue out, then vanished around a corner at the top of the rungs. Jo groaned and tried to follow, chasing Gage through the tight curves by the sound of his heavy feet and wild laughter.

Jo realized they were getting high up when one of the tubes he entered was dark, and he could hear cars below. He had wondered what the tubes that dipped outside were like, and he couldn't say he didn't know anymore. He could still hear Gage up ahead, but getting distant. "Wait up!"

"I'm up top! Come on!"

"Shit," Jo grunted, and plowed on. "Marco!"

Gage howled with laughter, but responded, "Polo!"

Jo followed his voice to the last ladder at the top, and found a plastic dome big enough for a few little kids, or one Gage and one Jo. Gage gave him a hand in as he got through the last tunnel and pulled him onto the slick plastic floor. "Check this out." He pressed his hands against the clear plastic, gazing out at the city. Jo crawled over and peered out.

They were over the glowing neon lights below, the cars playing stop-and-go, and far away from the dull hum of the city alive. Up here, Jo could see for miles, all the way out to the bay and past the overpass to the county. The business district shone like a beacon, but in the little Shangri-La slums, the lights glowed in long stripes in places, in curves along the highway, and in clusters like constellations over swaths of the darkness. Jo thought this might have been what it was like to look down at the night sky from above. The kid had found something pretty magnificent. Those wide eyes of wonder told Jo he knew as much, even as he pointed.

"I can see K-1 from here!" He grinned.

"Well, no shit, dumbass, it's like three blocks off!" Jo cuffed him across the top of his head, then took another long look. "Still, this is a cool view."

"Yeah, I thought it would be." Gage scooted over, shoulder to shoulder with Jo. "Hey, uh, thanks for takin' me here. Or gettin' Dad to take me here. You, an' Harl, you really are my best friends."

"Ah, god damn it, don't give me that." Jo sighed, but his arm crept up and around Gage's shoulder. "Make some friends your own age."

"Kids my age, uh, they're mean 'cause I'm kinda weird, and 'cause I'm in the crazy kid classes." Gage's eyes dropped. "You and Harl, and Dad, you don't even talk about it all that much unless I start causin' trouble. I know you an' me just met, but it's almost like..." He trailed off, and his shoulder shifted to lock under Jo's chest. "It's like the big brother I don't have."

"You stupid asshole." Jo sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "It's like the big brother you  _do_  have. Now, as awesome as this view is, let's get back down before you forget the way and your Dad comes charging in here out for my goddamn blood."

Gage chattered to Jo the whole way, slowing up a little, probably so he could follow, so Jo thought. It wasn't until they hit bottom and Gage yawned, mouth wide open and obnoxiously loud, that Jo had to whip his cellphone out and check the time. "Holy shit, it's like ten already?"

"Goddamn right." Jo squawked as Steele threw his jacket at his face, and rumpled it against his chest. He held Gage's shoes out over the dividing wall between the jungle gym and the floor. "It's past your bedtime, and we've got morning mass."

"Shit, so do we," Jo moaned, and tugged his jacket on. Harley giggled from his spot at Steele's side.

"My, and I do hope Haku hasn't worried himself naked. Still," he paused, his eyes dancing knowingly between Jo and Gage. "This was a lovely time. Perhaps we can return, if Gage passes all of his classes for the fourth term."

Gage gasped aloud, and for the next fifteen minutes of walking, all they heard was Gage babbling to Steele about how hard he was going to try and how cool the night was and how much he wanted to go back sometime. Jo didn't miss the way the drowsing kid lolled against Steele here and there, so that Steele was almost carrying him by the time they reached the doors of K-1.

"G'night, Harl." Gage waved, as Steele dug his keys out. "Night, Jojo."

"Hey, kid. Let me do you a solid." Jo stepped forward and took Gage's cell from his pocket. He quickly put his number into the sparse contacts list. "You ever need to talk, you call, okay?"

"Why, that's an excellent idea." Harley took Gage's little brick phone next, as Jo knelt down by Gage and mussed his hair one more time, as a thought occurred, and he spoke low:

"Hey kid, you said it was weird to be so close to me after not knowing me so long. Ain't it the same for Harl? He's only been around for like a month before me."

"What?" Gage didn't catch the hint to match Jo's volume. "No, I've known Harl for, like, ever!" Gage beamed. "Harley's been coming to K-1 for way longer than I was living there! He an' K-"

"Gage." Steele seized his ear. "What have I told you about talking about peoples' personal business?" Harley's wide eyes betrayed only confusion, and Jo stepped back towards him.

Holy shit. He just might have another in if the kid knew Harley's deal. Still, he grinned bashfully at Harley. "Hey, I had no idea you two were so close."

"I... I suppose that's a word for it, yes." Harley ran his fingers through his hair. "We'd best get going. We'll see you in the morning." He turned, and Jo followed behind him, as he and Gage traded a few final farewells over his shoulder until Steele wrested him off the doorstep and inside.

"That was a lovely night, Joel," Harley remarked coolly, his smile and the way he stood all loose and open. Just the way Jo liked him, really. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Damn right. You an' me, we'll study the kid up good!"

"Ahaha!" The fake laughter sounded a little less forced this time. "Yes, perhaps. But even if not. You'll have to practice with me on that dance game so I can keep up with Gage a little better."

There was another Holy Shit moment for Jo. He'd done something that made Harley flat-out happy, no strings, no dragchute, no "ifs" or "buts." He felt legitimately cool, for a second or two.

Miraculously, Haku hadn't shed himself to a pitiful pink lump, but cooed and flapped his wings when Harley pushed the door open. "Terribly sorry we're so late, little friend." Harley reached for the cage, then stopped himself. Jo hung his jacket. "Ah, I should wash my hands first." He turned out his pockets and emptied the coins onto the bar. Jo caught a flash of white on one of the pennies.

"Hey, Harl, you never told me what happened that got you the loose change." He joined him and filtered through the coins to see what had caught his eye.

"Oh, there was this odd fellow, asked me for a dollar and gave me all this in exchange. It was strange." Harley pursed his lips. "And... he knew my name."

"What?" Jo's heart sped up, and turned one of the pennies over and found the bit of white that had caught his eye. He hit the kitchen light, and Harley gasped aloud.

The word "Sin" written on white paper and taped to the penny in Jo's hand. Every other coin reflected silver and copper around matte splotches of crimson. Harley staggered back and slumped against the wall, eyes wide and blank.

"Harl!" Jo dove down after him, as Haku began to shriek. Harley didn't respond, shaking all over like he was having a seizure. "Harley! Talk to me, what the fuck?!"

"S... Sin... Sinner..." His eyes rolled back in his head, and Jo swore aloud and grabbed his phone.

Jo didn't have to guess who'd put the coins on Harley. What he wanted to know now was why Charon Ysidro wanted so badly to ruin what was left of Harley Cho's sanity.


	8. More Bull Than I Know What To Do With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo tries to puzzle out what's eating Harley, and ends up turning to an unexpected source.

**Staying Straight**

**8: More Bull Than I Know What To Do With**

One overnight at PatientFirst had Harley back on his feet. The best the doctor there gave them was a suggestion to avoid extreme emotional stress, and an inflated bill for services rendered, which even Harley balked at quietly as they walked out and made for the bus stop: "Goodness, this much for ten minutes with a nurse and a warm blanket."

Jo tried to remember how they'd treated what they called "shock," because he figured that if a few bloody coins could send Harley over the edge, he was going to have to be ready to take care of him himself. It might have been easier if Harley would just explain, what, exactly, the fuck Charon Ysidro had out for him, but Harley was as tight as a pickle jar, and Jo had never been good at the delicate touch.

"So, uh, I guess those stupid coins came from the Cents." Jo spat a little at the sidewalk at saying their name. He waited, hoping Harley would give some response, some little opening that Jo could worm into, but Harley kept his lips pressed tight and his arms folded around him. Jo continued. "I'll wash 'em and put 'em in a donation box or something, 'less you think we should keep 'em as evidence."

"You should do whatever you think is right." It was like a machine was talking, and no matter what way Jo looked at it, Harley was closed off.

He sighed, a lot. Any talk of working out was gone, and he was listless when it came time to go to church. Jo went with him, the same as before, but he kept his limbs in and tight, and he shook like a lamb staring down a butcher when he went up to take communion. Gage nudged Jo a couple dozen times, wiggling his eyebrows, and Jo just shook his head, over and over and over. As they finished the service and Harley got up to leave, Steele whistled.

"Jo, get your ass up here. I got some heavy shit that needs moving." Steele beckoned over his shoulder. Harley waited, trembling, by the door, and Jo watched helplessly, before scoffing to himself and following the Father out into the back repository.

"What, you got a box of Bibles or-" The door slammed shut and Jo was staring down the barrel of Father Steele's pistol.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"Shit, fuck, nothing!" Jo put his hands up, and he babbled out the entire events of the previous night from after they'd parted. Steele put the gun up about two sentences in, and waited with uncharacteristic patience for him to finish.

"Is he still safe with you?"

"I dunno. I dunno if we were followed home or anything. I dunno." Jo shook his head, over and over. "But whoever this was, he got to Harl at the arcade. I was thirty feet away and I didn't catch it. Fuck, I don't know what to do."

"You took him in." Steele's lips twitched down. "This is why Gage can't have a puppy. He doesn't know how to take care of it. You better figure this shit out or I'm going to step in."

Steele made him move a few boxes from one shelf to another, and sent Jo on his way with a shove before fuming off to have a cigarette, and Jo rejoined Harl where he'd waited, blank-eyed and motionless. The late spring sun caught in the jag of his cracked glasses, pupils as small and sharp as the periods at the end of every stiff sentence.

"It was nice of you to help Father Steele. Let's go back." His arms were tight around his chest like he was trying to block an oncoming blow.

"Sure. Hey, what do you wanna do today?" Jo nudged his arm, but there was no give to his shove. It was like touching concrete. "We could go to the park for a little while, if you want, get some fresh air. Do we need to hit the grocery store? You can cook whatever you like for dinner. Uh, maybe the library? The bookstore?"

"I think I'd like to go back to the apartment." Harley's every word was tight, clipped, like it pained him to speak. Jo felt like a hornet had stung him right in the ass.

Fuck, he'd been kidding himself when he thought he and Harl were okay with each other.

Harley moved like a robot or a zombie, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning the wall behind the oven and sink, cleaning things that Jo didn't think needed cleaning. Then, he fell idle, sitting with his arms folded, stiff as a corpse, staring at the wall or floor, spaces as empty as he was. His smile was still there like it was being hoisted in place with a winch. Jo's apartment was clean, but the air still felt so stale and full that Jo, so used to the stifling smoke of a couple dozen cigarettes hanging off of him, couldn't take it.

"I gotta get out, man." Jo pushed the flimsy blinds away from his window. "Look at this day. It's gorgeous. We gotta do something."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I dunno. Outside, maybe." Jo tilted his head out the window. Cars honked at one another and the red lights, kids on bikes zipped past, screaming and whooping. "It's nice. It's not too hot or humid, we could just go to Founder's Park and piss around for an hour."

"I think you'll have a nice time." Harley smiled, but rooted his feet to the floor. "Have fun, then."

Jo tried to remember that Harley was still shaken up from last night, and put on a smile. "I'll bring you back a corn dog."

"I'm not hungry." Harley's head bowed. Jo sighed, toed his boots on, and left. It wasn't worth arguing, and maybe, just maybe, a little space would make him feel better. When Jo left, Harley had coaxed Haku to step out onto his hand, and had sat back down with him cupped against his chest and was muttering little bits of comforting nonsense into his palms. Something about it made him feel sick, and he had to walk around for a very long time to clear his head.

Except nothing cleared up. For days, nothing cleared up. For all the light in Jo's life, it might as well have been pouring rain every day, a black-cloud deluge that gushed from above until it soaked through his galoshes and raincoat and swallowed him whole.

Harley was going through the motions, and though he was obviously trying to hide it under that ugly smile, it was plain to Jo that he was miserable.

"How can you tell?" Zack asked, when Jo wondered if he'd been okay at work and mentioned how unhappy he was. Jo had shrugged in response.

"I live with the dude, I kinda get him. I think."

He got on with his day, as best as he could. Harley still made breakfast, but packed Jo a brown-bag lunch and politely declined any offer Jo made to eat with him. The apartment was clean, Jo's laundry was washed, dried, and folded, Haku's bowls were filled and his cage constantly smelled like fresh pine pellets. Harley still puttered about the shelter kitchen, but without nearly the flair he had before.

"The food doesn't taste as good," Gage complained to Jo under his breath, and cast a sidelong glance at Harley through the cutout in the divide between the kitchen and the common area. "Y'think he's sick?"

Goddamn right he was, and Jo knew it. That fucking Ysidro had poisoned him, and whatever illness plagued Harley was probably working him over but good. It was a sickness, but it wasn't like when Jo was a kid and had fever, and Jack had given him Benadryl and aspirin every hour on the hour, took his temperature with his hand and read to him out of his Power Rangers comic books until he was back on his feet. Jo didn't think he could touch Harley long enough to swaddle him in a blanket, nor pin him to the bed long enough to read to him (and he probably didn't have the vocabulary to read out of any books Harley would like, anyway). Maybe Steele was right. Maybe he should have gone back to asylum until he could get over this.

Or maybe Jo could bring Harley an antidote. Right now, Charon Ysidro's front teeth in his hand would fix a hell of a lot. Shit, even if giving that ugly fuck the beating of his life wouldn't help Harley, it would make him feel better. Soothe his soul or whatever, like one punk's wretched screams were peaceful bagpipes.

Couldn't tell the kid that, though. He also couldn't help being a little bitter about it, either.

"Somethin' happened." Jo shrugged and kicked his feet up onto the bench. He didn't bother trying not to scowl. "You should ask him about it." Harley seemed to have heard him, and those big green eyes fixed on him from dead across the room.

They didn't make Jo think of trees or green places anymore. They barely even looked like green right now. Just more washed out gray, like the asphalt and concrete and steel that had always, always, always walled him in. Maybe he should have felt bad for sending Gage running over to him to hang on his arm, but it seemed like the happy little bastard was the brightest thing Jo had going right now.

This was what it meant to have a best friend. No wonder Father Steele made himself so hard to get close to.

Naturally, this just led to Jo cornering Steele near the confessional box. "Alright, I don't know how to help him."

"Of course you fucking don't," Steele shot back.

"Yeah, be a dick later, help me now. I've given him space, I've tried to cheer him up, offered to take him places, but let him do what he wants, and I don't push, but I can't fix this."

"No, you can't."

"You've known the guy for, fuck, I dunno how long." Jo still couldn't get how the two got along at all (the caustic, bitter priest and the deliberately pleasant sinner) but whatever it was, it worked for them. He sneaked a peek out at the tables, where Harley stood next to Gage, huddled over his textbook, then grabbed Steele's collar. "Tell me how to help h-!"

Jo couldn't finish, because Steele had seized his wrist and he was suddenly flat on the lino, staring at the scattered dots on the drop ceiling. Steele sneered down from above him. "I'll call the asylum for you."

"Please." The words were coming before Jo could even think about them. "Don't put the poor guy back in a box. He's better than that."

"My, my." Those words, once colored with genuine curiosity every time Jo heard them, fell flat and distracted as Harley came close. "You really shouldn't tease the Father so, Joel." He crouched down, and Jo pushed himself up to a sit. Harley hadn't offered a hand to help, so Jo didn't wait for one, and the two rose side by side. "Are you quite alright?"

"Let's just say I'm lucky I know to land on my ass." He dusted his front and back, as Steele folded his arms and stalked off. Harley studied Jo's face from under eyebrows that seemed permanently bunched up nowadays, but Jo couldn't make himself look at him.

"Is... something the matter?"

Shit, Jo could throttle him. "Yeah. And you know what the hell it is, so don't play dumb with me."

And shit if he didn't look just a little bit hopeful at that. "Is it me?" Jo was going to throttle him now if he didn't back away now.

"Listen, I'm not going to answer that stupid fucking question, because I know you're not that stupid." His face was a lot closer to Harley's than it needed to be, and Harley looked just plain uncomfortable now. Good. Better than that pitiful fucking look he'd been wearing all week. "What I am going to do is go outside and smoke until you're done with the brat. Come and get me when you're done, and for God's sake, if you're going to be a dumbass, get it out of your system now!"

Harley seemed to have forgotten how to speak for a moment. His mouth hung just open, and his cheeks were just a little red. The best way Jo knew to describe it was like someone had just hit him with a fish: something completely unexpected and you're just not sure what part of the aftermath to deal with first. Jo just turned around and skulked off, because whether Harley wound up and fired back or burst into tears, he didn't want to stick around and wait for it.

He sat on the front step of the mission for a long time, smoked until his pack was empty and listened to the howling sirens passing by from all directions. He counted nine cop calls and four ambulances (though one might have been a fire truck) before Harley opened the door behind him. "Oh, did you wait for me?"

"Like I'd let you walk home alone." Jo spat at the sidewalk next to his feet, and rocked up to his feet. He turned, and saw that same sad, puppy-dog look haunting his eyes, and tried hard to sound contrite. "Sorry I snapped, man."

"There's nothing to apologize for." Harley shrugged a little, and that sad look slipped away into the puddle of sorrow that he'd been soaking in for the past days. Jo felt that instinct to scream and shake Harley come back in a rush, because nothing had changed. Nothing was better. There was nothing to apologize for because Jo didn't know what was wrong.

And he didn't even know who or how to ask for help anymore.

* * *

Jo didn't believe in ghosts. When you were dead, it was over, done, you were gone. Everything you did, everything you were, they meant fuck all in the long run. Nothing was gonna chase him, that was for damn sure. Still, living with Harley had given him a good idea of what it was like to live in a haunted house. Harley's ghosts might have been invisible, and Jo sure as shit couldn't name any of them, but they were making his life heavy.

If ghosts were real, Jo fucking hated them. He hated living with them, living with a man possessed by his. Maybe Steele was right, as much as Jo would never want to admit it. Maybe Harley did just need to go back to the asylum, until he could clear his head again, turn back into the guy Jo had known for a month. Trouble was, what if he didn't? What if this was the genuine article? What if the guy Jo had met and taken home wasn't Harley at all? Who even was Harley?

These questions hung gray around Jo like moss, and dragged on his every step, work and home and back again. Even Yana picked up on it at their meeting that week, and she didn't put down her notepad when she finished with her usual questions, but folded her hands over it.

"There's something you're not telling me." She let her gaze rove over him, and he replied by kicking his feet onto the table and sliding his eyes up to the ceiling. "Joel, if there's something wrong, maybe I can help."

"What can you do?" A surge of anger colored his words and hit the accelerator on his big mouth: "You don't even know the guy."

"Trouble with your roommate?" Pen up, notepad up, and Jo knew he'd said too much and wouldn't get out without explaining himself. He groaned, and threw his arms out across the wings of the chair.

"Look, it's nothing you can help with."

"You'd be surprised. It might just help to talk out loud about it." Yana crossed one leg over the other. "Did you two have some sort of disagreement?"

"No, well- I mean-" Jo gave in and spat it out. "Look, he's just been depressed and I don't know how to cheer him up, and it's getting me down."

"Clinical depression?" Yana tapped her pen to her lip. "It can be difficult to live with someone with clinical depression. I can recommend support groups-"

"No, no, no." Jo pressed his hands over his face. "I don't wanna talk to anyone, I just wanna fix him. I think something triggered it, and I wanna un-trigger it."

"Oh." Yana uncrossed and crossed her legs again, a tiny frown creasing her face. "What do you think triggered it?"

The word 'sin.' All that blood. "I think it might'a been something to do with whatever he did." Jo frowned as the gears clicked in his head. "I dunno what he did, but... the guy who did this did. Maybe this guy reminded him of it, and it freaked him out."

Yana was chewing the end of her pen again by the time Jo finished, eyelids dragging low with heavy thoughts. Jo could see the the hamster running on its wheel in her head, as she tried to think things through. No, she couldn't ask much, and Jo wouldn't tell her much more. Finally, she came up with, "And does he have a therapist?"

"I don't think he likes him. Probably doesn't tell him shit. Whatever he did, he really hates it." Jo felt his own brain hamster misstep, before lurching back into motion and setting his head into high gear. "If it was something awful, something that'd get attention like this, it's gotta be bad. Maybe someone else'll know."

"Hmm." Yana's eyebrows bunched up like tangled threads, and she crossed her legs over again. "It might not be wise to prod around. Considering the area, and... everything." Her eyes dropped, and Jo sat up all at once.

"That's right." Harley had been tied up with the gangs around here. For whatever reason, the Cents wanted his blood. If Harley had gotten their attention like that, then other gangs had probably heard about it too. If he could talk to someone who'd been involved before Harley had been committed... "Holy shit, Yana, you're brilliant!" He jumped forward and clapped her shoulders. She yelped, stiffening with surprise, but returned a shaky smile.

"Er, you're welcome?" She dusted her shoulder and stood. "I suppose that's all for today, is it?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. If you're done, I'm done." He glanced at the clock. "Hell, I'm sorry, I made you run over, huh?"

"Oh, no, no." She waved her hands, and her voice dwindled to a squeak: "I, er, my three-thirty's been expunged."

"Expunged? Like, no more record?" Jo felt both eyebrows raise.

"It's all over the news, otherwise I wouldn't mention it." Yana sighed a bit, but ushered Jo towards the door. "It's awful, but there's little we can do about it."

They parted with friendly good-byes, and Jo had a lot running through his head. First, that expunging thing. Jo made a mental note to find out what the hell she meant, if it was "all over the news." Second, he needed to find someone who'd been in the game four years ago. Lucky him, he worked with plenty of ex-gang members and he knew who was last out.

If nothing else, the idea was a light that kept the ghosts at bay.

* * *

Harley seemed suspicious when he saw Jo off the next morning. "Your mood has improved," he observed as Jo kicked back the stand on his bike. Harley's hadn't, but Jo had, generously, been doing his best to ignore that all morning. "I do hope you don't have some stunt hidden up your sleeve."

"Huh?" Jo lifted his head into his helmet. "Now, why would you think that?"

"Joel, I'm not blind." Harley's fingers brushed the rim of his broken glasses lens, adjusting the frames over his eyes. "I know I've been... difficult of late, and you've been doing your best to make it better." He crossed one arm over the other and held it against his chest like stemming blood from a wound. "It's kind, but unnecessary. This is something I'll deal with on my own."

"Yeah?" Jo's face took heat. "No can do, partner. I'm your friend, and I'll help you however I feel like it." He smirked. "Just you try and stop me." He jumped on, just as Harley thrust an arm out to do so, but Jo was off and running in a second. He didn't even stop when he turned and yelled back, "See you tonight, bud!" He could hear Harley saying something under the roar of the cars, but he turned his music on just to make sure he couldn't hear him.

Jo checked in at the office first and got his first couple of assignments, but winked at Aretha on his way out. "By the way, you seen Yakim today? He at the garage again?"

"No, he's out making deliveries today." Aretha gave him a sidelong once-over. Jo always got the idea she was a little hungry when she looked at him, but she was a little on the "too-much-makeup" and "too-many-birthdays" side for his tastes. She licked her lips a little (he ignored it) and invited, "Did he skip the bar last night?"

"I wasn't there, no clue. I just needed to ask him something. If you catch him, let him know I'm looking for him." He waved and headed out on his way, as collected as could be.

Yakim was the last hire before him, or at least the last one still employed there, and Jo might not have known his exact numbers, but odds were good he was still doing what he oughtn't do when Harley did whatever he shouldn't have done. If he was out of little Shangri-La, odds were he was doing whatever he did wrong for a gang. Jo was an odds-playing man, and this hand looked like a straight to him.

He lingered at the garage a little longer than he should have when he went to make pickups, but ended up mostly just standing around and taking a second to clear his messages to get rid of the incessant chime as he ignored texts from Harley. He finally just turned the sound off, on his third linger, just before Yakim pulled his van in. He casually sauntered towards the driver's side seat of the van, one hand lifted in greeting. "Yo, Yakim!"

"Jojo!" Yakim's husky accent just made him sound happier to see him. The inside of the van smelled strongly of cologne, but Yakim's clothes still reeked of cheap vodka. "The spider lady, she says you are looking for me, ya? What'sa matter, came up short at the tables?"

"Nothin' like that, man." Jo stuffed his hands in his pockets as eye contact failed him. "Look, you only got out of the joint like a year before me, yeah? How long you in for?"

"Eh." Yakim's smile had faded, and he gave a broad, exaggerated shrug. "I cut good deal. Six months with time served, plus five years' probation. Why? You try to expunge record now? Trying to see if your buddy Yakim done it too?"

"Expunge? Seriously." Jo knocked the flat of his palm against his forehead. "My parole officer said something about that. What is that?"

Yakim was verging on a scowl now. His accent didn't sound nearly so friendly anymore. "You no read news, Jojo? Over the last six months, something like six hundred convicts in city have had their jail sentences and records thrown out the window because of jury errors. I talk to my officer too, he tell me the courts make some mistake over and over in lots of gang cases. Some bitch lawyer finds out, and now she goes around getting as many gang members out of jail as she can. Only trouble is, the error only applies to guys who plead 'not guilty.' Me, not interested." Yakim set his shoulders back. "I know I was wrong."

"Well, shit." Jo scratched his head. "Wonder how many of 'em got wings, or pennies, or horns-"

Yakim's elbow was in Jo's throat, and before Jo could react, Yakim had pinned Jo against the side of his van. "You be quiet! Who talks about horns?!" He barked, teeth bared like a rabid dog, and threw his eyes over both shoulders. They were alone in the garage, and Jo could feel Yakim about to push his eyes out of his skull. "You, you mess with the gangs again? You don't learn, Jojo?"

"Shit, fuck, no! I'm not with 'em!" Jo flailed and seized his wrist, and tried fruitlessly to pull him off. "I'm havin' a problem, and I need help! My buddy, he's gettin' chased by the Cents-"

"Why you fuck with the Cents, Jojo?!" Yakim throttled him, and Jo spit at Yakim. Yakim dropped him, and Jo scuttled back against the wall of the van.

"Listen to me, ya Russkie fuck! He hates them, and they hate him, and I need to know why! Why the fuck would Charon fucking Ysidro go after a computer nerd?" He scrabbled against the side wall and away from Yakim, who was heaving hard breaths like he could charge. He wiped Jo's spit off his shoulder.

"What're you talking about?" That sounded just a little calmer. And a lot less accented. The color drained from Jo's face. Yakim's jaw tightened like a bolt, as he realized what Jo had realized.

"Yakim, you ain't talkin' Russkie anymore."

Yakim stood, stiff, for a long moment, and ground his teeth together. "Keep your goddamn voice down." The accent seemed to slip back in, just enough, and Yakim planted his shoulders against the wall behind him. Jo trembled, but wrung his hands.

"It's just you and me, man. Seriously. You're the closest to the gangs I know. The Cents are out for my best buddy's blood. He's got their boss's eye. What the hell was happening, last you heard?"

"Jojo, this talk is dangerous." Yakim shook his head, back and legs stiff. "You've heard the chatter now, and you're not that stupid. The gangs are getting bigger again, and in this part of town-"

"We're in the damned garage!" Jo threw his hands up. "We're in Ken's garage, and he keeps this place tighter than a nun's asshole! Ain't nobody gonna hear us, or hear you, and I'd never repeat anything that'd tie back to you." He huffed and shuffled his feet anxiously. "I'm desperate. He won't tell me what's goin' on, so I can't help him. Shit, I'm scared, okay?"

Yakim scoffed, his lip curling up. "You should be!" He kicked off the wall and drew close to Jo, close enough that Jo could damn near taste the rotgut on his lips. "I don't know the Cents. Last I heard, their numbers were down after some sort of massacre-"

"Like a gang war?" Surprise stung Jo, and all the hair on his neck stood upright.

"No idea. But something like twenty of them were killed overnight, and then, there was a huge rush of arrests." He sighed, and shifted narrow eyes over his shoulder again. "I don't listen to the chatter, but I heard around that they lost a lot of members to the bigger groups. The leader and a small group of his loyals- fucking puppets, the kind that blindly live and die for their boss- were making noise taking back territory with fear. I heard that some small cells of Sharks and Bulls on the North side of the quarter got scared off by the twisted fuckers. Their numbers are growing again."

Shit. Jo heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. "That ain't good. But... what's any of that got to do with my buddy?"

"I don't know your friend, Jojo, but if they have beef with him, they're gonna make it known. Probably make a mess of him over three cross-streets to make a statement." Yakim scoffed and folded his arms. "They don't care. Don't care who you are. You get in their way, they deal with you."

Jo could read the lines etched in Yakim's brow and jaw clearer than plain written English. "Yakim, what the fuck happened to you?"

Yakim was quiet for a good long minute, Jo's gaze burning a hole in his chest, until Yakim let his arms fall limp to his sides. "My family, my mother and all eight of us, we come over from Mongolian territory when the Shangri-La army was coming." The accent started to rise and fall, like a boat bobbing at the cusp of his throat. "We got asylum, because we were all children. Our mother's gets revoked, and she gets dragged off to an ICE cell. I was sixteen, and oldest by a few years, I have to feed them somehow." He hung his head. "I start to steal, then mug, and that gets their attention." He tugged at the collar of his shirt, and Jo could clearly see a burn scar just under his collarbone shaped roughly like a set of horns. "I joined to get money to keep food in their mouths, did whatever they told me. I was a ruthless monster, Jojo, I hated every second, but to come home to their little smiles, made me feel human." He rubbed his chin, his lower eyelids crinkling with the force of a weak smile. "Four younger sisters. I braid their hair and dressed them all for school, walked them to the bus. Three younger brothers, so smart." He brought the accent back in full force. "We learn American accents quickly, but the Yakov Smirnov accent, it make them laugh, ya?" He laughed, but it was as broken as a bad signal on AM radio and faded as quickly. "But I tried to leave, you see. I wanted to do better by them. I try, tell them I got better work, and I'll forget them, and they tell me, 'Whatever,' but I come home, and..." Yakim's voice cracked and skipped like a record. "The house- on fire- all of them- dead already!..." Jo felt part of his heart break as Yakim held back a sob, but trembled when he slammed his fist against the van wall. He breathed deep, then slipped a hand into his back pocket and pulled out a flask, then took a long, long drink, and continued his confessional:

"I turn them all in. Every name, their phones, their addresses, all their hiding places. The officers, they tell me, change my name, change where I live. I change my voice on my own." Yakim grimaced at the ground. "I joined to protect them, to keep them from ever having a reason to join. I thought we escaped war. They brought the war here." He bowed his head into his hands with a grimace. "They take everything, Jojo. If what you say is true, and they have reason to hate your friend, then say goodbye now." He took another chug from his flask. "The Cents were always fucked up, but if they're getting aggressive to make a statement, then when they're done playing with him, he's as good as dead."

Jo had to drag a breath in, then let it out all at once: "Fuck."

Jo ran out of the storage unit without a second thought, and started to read over all the texts Harley had sent him. Each swipe and click gave him new chills:

_"Come back. We must talk"_

_"Joel, please respond."_

_"I'm getting scared."_

_"We need to talk. Respond to me. I don't even know if you're alive."_

_"Please"_

He could hear Harley's voice, small even in his mind, could picture him frantically tapping away with his mouth just open to gnaw at his lower lip. Hell, what the fuck was he worried about  _him_  for?! Didn't he know who he was dealing-

That thought got choked off by a hand over Jo's mouth. Jo barely had time to think, 'Does this smell like chloroform to you?' before his knees went wobbly under him and his shoulder and side were hitting something hard but not scratchy, and despite the loud squeal of tires under him, he was out cold.


	9. Red Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo ends up on the wrong end of Charon Ysidro's grudge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have updated the tags as of this chapter to reflect the direction the story is taking.

**9: Red Strings**

It was rare that Jo woke up not knowing where he was, but usually kind of nice. Most of the time, he'd be on the left side of a too-small bed, and there would be a nice little sweetheart on the right with her makeup from the night before smeared on her pillow, offering him breakfast or at the very least calling him a cab. He wouldn't count out a few times waking up in a gutter, and he'd found those less than pleasant. 'Tied to a chair' was a new one, and Jo was definitely not into it.

"Shit." It hurt to move his jaw, and it wasn't easy. He moaned as he lifted his head, but the weight of it made him drop it forward again. "Fuck." He licked his lips. His mouth was dry and tasted like a dentist's office smelled. His arms were completely numb, and there was something restricting the movement on his chest other than the ropes. The room was dark, but for a few shafts of white light streaming in from slim, long windows around the edge of the room. Even if the light were better, Jo was pretty sure he wouldn't recognize it. He groaned, and added (for good measure), "Fuck me."

"Ah, if only we had time." A plaintive lament, and one that put a chill in Jo's gut. He twisted his neck around to look for the source, even though there was a big part of him that had no interest in seeing where such a slimy-sounding voice came from. His eyes adjusted to the light and he finally got a glimpse of his captor.

He had the typical look of a Shangri-la transplant, except a chunk of his jet-black hair had been bleached blonde. He was skinny, really skinny, his sweatshirt and pants baggy and hung off of him. Jo could smell nicotine and cough syrup on him. His smirk was thin and broad, like it had been painted on with a single stroke. He extended a hand, and Jo could see a centipede tattoo coiling around his wrist. "Benjamin Rihan's catamite." He bit the word off with a smirk. "I thought I recognized the photographs. You've gotten much taller, haven't you?"

It took Jo a very, very long minute for his brain to catch up with what had been said to him. "What, Benny?" He shook his head a little. His brain fluid seemed to be swishing around like it was on the spin cycle. "Look, I think you got your facts wrong. I'm not a rock, I actually rock, and if you're talkin' 'bout Benny, I'ma dance on his grave for havin' a dweeb name like Benjamin."

"Funny, funny, Joel Sha!" The other man laughed lightly, his voice piercing the air like a dagger, and Jo shuddered. His name sounded way too weird coming from this guy. "Come, Joel, why don't you be serious with me?"

"Shit, I dunno who you are, but I got no money and I ain't involved with Benny no more. I'm pretty sure he died, a long time ago. Nobody's gonna come for me-" He stopped, because that might not have been completely true, and it suddenly came to him. "Oh, fuck."

He was staring Charon Ysidro in the face.

"I believe someone just might." That thin little smirk spread thinner across his bony cheeks. He slinked a little closer. Jo tried to make the chair scoot back- futile, but it made him feel a little better. This was quickly reversed when he realized the chair was not moving at all, and he was just making himself nauseous.

"Shit, it really is you. Twisted-ass fuck. What, no more of your little puppets?" He put on a brave smirk like he could cover the fact that he was cornered like a rat in a restaurant kitchen. Charon Ysidro giggled again, and Jo's intestines writhed. He was one more fucked up laugh from shitting his pants, and the creep was only coming closer.

"Begging is unattractive, Joel Sha. As is slithering in place like a worm. You couldn't move if you wanted to." Charon Ysidro reached into his hood pocket brandished a hypodermic needle with the plunger pushed in, and Jo felt sick.

"What'd you put in me?"

"A strong dose of muscle relaxant. I thought of dosing you with raw acid, but I'm afraid the fun would be over far too soon if I did."

Jo heaved and shook his head, and he couldn't make his voice any louder than a faint whisper: "That needle wasn't clean, was it?"

"You'll find it won't matter in just a little while." Ysidro swaggered close, leaned like the gals who danced the pole did, way too close to Jo for comfort. The way his eyelids hung almost looked like he was going to kiss him as he came closer, and Jo pinned his lips shut when he was just too close, so close he could taste his air. His eyes squeezed shut when that hand extended towards his hips-

And pulled his cell phone from his side pocket.

"My, my, twenty messages?" Ysidro perched on a nearby stack of boxes and swiped the touchscreen open with a careless flip of his fingers. "There's two here from a 'Gage,' and all the rest..."

"Hng!" Jo had to swallow his lunch again. Fuck, shit, fuck, no! Ysidro giggled again, and swiped left. He tapped near the bottom of the screen, and Jo could hear the phone ringing.

The phone rang once, and there was a click. "Joel, thank goodness. I was-"

"Ah, so it is you." The thin electric hum of the silence was a sonic boom to Jo. Charon Ysidro smirked at the phone. "Harley Cho, is it, now?" The silence wound on, until Ysidro held the phone out towards Jo. "But you were expecting to hear from this person, weren't you?"

"H-Harl." Jo couldn't keep the tremor from his voice. "I'm okay. Hang up and call the cops!" In a flash, the phone was away from his mouth and Charon Ysidro slapped him hard. Jo's cheek throbbed, and he could swear his jawbone was going to bruise.

"Awful manners. Speak when spoken to, Joel Sha. As for his suggestion-" The way he said the word was damn near suggestive, Christ- "I wouldn't recommend it. Joel, have you noticed the belt around your chest?"

He hadn't, and he glanced down to find that the odd weight he'd felt on his chest was a contraption that looked a lot like a stopwatch.

"That's a small incendiary device. It's amazing what a man can do with just a little C4, a few wires, and the right attitude." Ysidro giggled, and put his lips close to the receiver like he could jab his tongue into Harley's mouth across the wires. "I made this one out of a fitness tracker, and this one is currently tracking his heartbeat. The difference is, if this one continues to track him for, let's see..." He touched the device and turned its screen to face him. "Ah, it appears we have about thirty-nine minutes remaining. Yes, thirty-nine minutes from now, if his heart is still beating, this device will explode." Ice water swept up through Joel from his toes to his neck. He started to struggle against the belt, but Charon Ysidro clicked his tongue. "Ah-ah, just removing the heartbeat won't do anything. You see, I've got a detonator as well. Convenient, how those trackers have built-in Wi-Fi. So, if he removes the device, I'll set it off. And of course, if I even smell a pig-" He snapped his fingers. "Boom."

Static crackled on the other end, but Jo could hear white noise of the city. Harley was there. Harley was listening.

"But I'm not a complete  _psychopath_ , not like some people I know." Charon Ysidro smirked into the phone, and Jo winced at the taunt. "It's not a big device. Just enough to put a decent hole in your friend's chest. However, if it goes off, the fire from his clothes will spread, and catch all the other little presents I've tucked away in this basement." He gestured to the ceiling, smile unwavering like a child pointing at the stars. "And this lovely old church will make him a delightful gravestone- with slabs left over for the stiff priest, the energetic little boy, and all the smelly drifters upstairs."

Oh, shit, that was his game.

"So, in order to avoid this, I'll need you to stop this man's heart."

"Then do it, motherfucker!" Jo stomped his feet and tried to lunge at him. "If I'm gonna die, just do it!" Ysidro dropped the phone on Jo's knee and circled behind him, grabbed one of his hands and wrenched. Jo screamed.

"And that would be your wrist, Joel Sha." Ysidro picked the phone up again, cradling it near his face and pressing the earpiece close. "Not as if you'll need it, but perhaps the pain will remind you to hold your tongue."

"Ysidro." That was the first time Harley had spoken since he'd picked up, and there was a different quality to his voice. Something so calm and cool it was scary. "You have nothing to gain from taking his life. If it's my life you want, you can have it."

"Harl, no!"

"I'm not interested in your life, Gregory." Jo could just hear Harley squeak out a whimper on the other end of the line, as Ysidro damn near licked the phone. "You're wonderful at what you do, and what you do is kill. I want to see you do it again. And again, and again, if necessary. You took everything from me, Gregory. I want you to do the same to yourself." He chuckled, warm and dark and slow, and crooned into the receiver, "I want to watch your heart break again. I want you crying and screaming. I want you back in your padded cell where you belong." He set the phone down on one of the crates near Jo. "Forgive me for not greeting you in person, Gregory Cho, but I think I'll listen to your touching final goodbyes from afar. A man like you might have trouble performing when he has an attentive audience." For the first time, Jo spotted a camcorder with red and blue lights blinking steadily at him from its spot on a table across the room. "And besides, I know just what kind of monster you are. After all." He smirked, but it wasn't for Jo or even Harley. "I made you." With that, he slugged Jo in the ribs, then square in the nose. Jo choked.

"You dirty son of a bitch!" The pain in his gut was blinding, and he threw his head back to stem the blood running from his nose, grinding out swears and gasping to breathe through his mouth. He only just caught the shadow of Charon Ysidro vanishing up the stairs and heard a door shut behind him. He was alone. The phone was still nearby, and Jo could still hear a thin hum of static. "Hey, Harl?" He coughed and spat blood onto the floor, praying to God his airway stayed open. "Harl, ya there?"

"I'm here, Joel." His voice was a sad, resigned calm now, but hearing it without that icy layer of detachment made Jo feel a little tiny bit better. "Are you okay?"

"He drugged me. Probably stuck me with a needle after he knocked me out. Said it was a muscle relaxer, probably why he was able to bust my hand so easy." He tried to move his legs, and discovered that he could. "It's wearing off, though. I'm..." He laughed, because the words tasted so weird: "I'm gonna be alright."

"Oh, Joel." Jo strained to listen to the noise around Harley, and could hear a bus in the distance.

"Look, man, I just want you to know, this ain't your fault. I knew what I was getting myself into when I decided I wanted to help you. S'what happens when you make yourself a white knight." He let his head fall forward. Blood dripped in round, heavy splotches onto his pants. "I mean, you go to battle, you put your life on the line. You're a good friend. I'm actually kind of okay with dying for you."

"Joel..."

"Can ya just make it quick?" He realized his voice had started to do that annoying shaking thing again, and the rest of him was coming with it. "I mean, ain't like nobody's gonna miss a dumb punk like me anyway."

"Joel, that's not..."

Jo didn't hear whatever it wasn't, because he was hearing nothing but his own heart beating and something gross flooding from his eyes and nose. "Oh, god, oh, Christ, this is... this is real, ain't it? I'm gonna die. Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die!" He struggled against the cords stringing his arms and ankles to the chair like escaping could do him any good. "I don't wanna die. I've got a fucking life, I've got people I give a fuck about! Shit, I wanna live!"

"I'm sorry."

Jo coughed, but it could have been a sob. It had been years since he'd cried like this, he wasn't even sure what it felt like anymore. "He ain't got the right to do this to me. Shit, I didn't sign up for this! I don't care what the fuck you did to him, or anyone, fuck that stupid pussy! He ain't got the fucking right! Fuck!" He stomped his feet. "Shit!"

"Morbid prick." It didn't sound like Harley on the other end of the line, because Harley would never talk to him like that. Harley talked all sweet and gentle, even if he didn't mean it most of the time. Harley was nice to him. Jo tried to clutch onto that, on how goddamn good he felt when he could make Harley smile. Drawing breath again was hard, until the voice on the other end spoke again. "Just keep talking, Joel." That sounded more like it.

"I dunno what you want me to say. 'Cept, maybe that you were right." He hung his head, but noticed the ropes around his legs had come loose.

"You said something about your hand, Joel. Did he injure you anywhere else?" The static on the other end of the line died all at once, but Jo kept talking because Harley had told him to keep talking and like hell if he was going to ignore him now.

"He cracked my wrist. Moving it hurts like a son of a bitch. Punched me in the nose, and in the gut. Probably got a couple ribs. Guess it doesn't matter, since I'm... I'm gonna... shit, Harl." He choked on his words, but managed to get to a stand. The cords slipped off of his arms as he did. "I got loose, anyway. Y'think it'll count if I off myself?"

There was no reply.

"Harl?" That cold feeling just made the dim light seem black. "Please, god, Harl. I'm bein' selfish, but if I'm gonna die, don't-"

The door opened again with a bang, and Father Steele bustled in with Gage at his heels. Harley was a step behind him, phone still in hand, but he hung it up and rushed close to Jo. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-" He hung up the phone, just as Steele seized his arm.

"Harley, I told you to wait upstairs if you were going to get in my way." Jo sized him up, and hung his head.

"Awright." He tried to sound enthusiastic. "Last Rites, right? Not sure it'll count if I've never been baptized-"

"Like I'd waste a cracker on your sorry ass." Steele sneered, and Gage tittered anxiously behind him. He squinted at the little device on Jo's chest, then nodded Harley forward. Harley stepped in and knelt down in front of Jo.

"He wasn't lying. It is tracking his pulse, and it appears the Wi-Fi signal is on." He glanced to Gage, who had crouched down behind the camera, and he nodded hard.

"Is it actually a bomb?"

"I have no way of knowing." Harley shook his head and backed up, green eyes dull and wet with pity as they ran over Jo. Jo could only sigh.

"Look, the dickweed drugged me and snatched me off the streets. If he says he put a bomb on me, I fucking believe him." He tried to lean down to look at the clock on it. 19:36... 35... 34... "Look, whatever you're gonna do, make it quick, and for God's sake, don't make the kid watch." Gage shrugged from his perch behind the camera, and Steele scoffed.

"Shut your stupid mouth." He snapped his fingers at Harley. "How's it attached?"

"It seems to be embedded in a belt around his chest." Harley adjusted his glasses. "It's homemade, and I have sincere doubts as to how well it will work."

"I'd rather not take chances with the mission overhead." Steele paced a few steps away, unbelievably calm but as tense as piano wire. "And he said there was more in the boxes around here. Hmph. A bluff." He whipped a hand out at Gage, pointing for the door. "Go call the cops."

"Shit, no!" Jo tried to wave his hands in a 'time-out,' but the belt around his chest slipped a little loose when he even lifted his shoulders. "He's watching, he's got the camera and probably some sort of monitor on his phone or whatever, and he'll set it off!"

"Do you really believe him?" Steele sneered, and Jo ground his teeth because only this fucking guy could be so careless when he had a bomb strapped to his chest. "You said you didn't want to die. You got a better plan?"

"Fuck, I dunno, I dunno!" He cringed and dug his fingers into his hair. Harley circled behind him, and the hairs on Jo's neck rose. "I don't wanna die, but I can't make him kill me, I can't put Harl through this! Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, piss, goddamn fuck!" He saw red and white flashing against the black of the rest of the room, and shouted: "Just fucking shoot me, you bastard!"

Steele reeled around and pressed his gun to Jo's forehead. Jo's jaw fell- his finger was on the trigger-

And there was a very loud noise, like a thousand buildings collapsing at once. Jo was sure his heart had stopped.

It hadn't. But the bomb was off his chest and Harley was pressing the sensor to his wrist and taking deep, slow breaths. Steele lowered the pistol- it had been a good three inches off his forehead- and emptied a blank out of it and dropped it into his cassock pocket. Across the room, the camera was in a couple hundred pieces of shattered plastic and motherboard, and Gage was dusting the last of it off the bottom of a crate of old Bibles. Harley managed a shaky smile as he held the little watch in place.

"Can you hold this here?" Jo winced, but wrapped his good hand around Harley's to hold the watch on his arm. "No, no, lower on the belt. Keep your hands out of range as best as you can." Jo frowned, but slid his grip down the belt. Harley used his free hand to take his little keyboard from his pocket and attached it to some of the loose wires. "Here we are." His fingers quivered with every keystroke, but his voice was oddly steady as he murmured to Joel, "You don't scare very easily, but I suppose the thought of a bullet to the brain would make anyone's heart skip a beat." He typed a few last characters. "Ah, as I thought. It's not a very precise device, and the programming is no better than what I'd expect of an eight year old in Baby's First C++ class. A momentary pause may not have affected anything at all, but better safe than sorry- ah." He smiled. "And the timer's been set to 999 hours. That's as high as the counter goes. I've disabled the Wi-Fi to be safe." He dropped to his knees, and Jo went down after him.

"Harl-"

"Joel." Harley's elbows buckled, but he forced a plaintive little smile at him. "Why don't you call the police?" He fell face first, and Jo jumped back.

"Fucking shit, what the hell?!" He whirled around on Steele. "That's directed at you. What the f-"

"If his heart's still beating, we should be alright." Steele shrugged. Gage, meanwhile, had whipped out his cellphone and dialed 911 in a flash.

"Hey, Rhonda? It's Gage, from K-1, and boy, you're never gonna believe this..."

"That's not the point!" Jo dropped back down to his knees and flipped him onto his back. "Harl! Hey, Harl! Harley!" Steele scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Quit squirming, stupid. Gage, get an ambulance here for both of these idiots." Steele knelt down and grabbed Jo's right arm. It damn near burned at his touch. "You're fucked up, and you'll drive Harley and Gage crazy if you make it worse." He shoved Jo back down onto the concrete and gave him a glare that told him to stay put. He then touched Harley's forehead with the back of his hand. "Harley's probably just in shock again. He didn't want you to die either." He sniffed and turned away, but Jo caught a glimpse of distress in the hard set of his jaw. "I didn't tell him the gun wasn't loaded."

"You dick!" Jo started to wind back on him, but his ribs and sides ached when they bent, and he moaned and collapsed back to a prone position. "Fuck..." He sighed, but his wheels were still turning.

Turns out, he didn't even care what Harley had done to that slimy Cent anymore. He didn't care who Gregory was. He didn't need to know anything but this:

"Y'know what? Fuck Charon Ysidro."

He wasn't going to let Ysidro yank Harley around by his strings anymore.


	10. Face the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charon Ysidro's got to be dealt with, but can our heroes hold it together long enough to face him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick thing: Anti-retrovirals that can prevent someone from catching HIV are a thing. Who knew, right? Post-Exposure Prophylaxis, or PEP, can prevent a person who has been exposed to the HIV virus from actually being infected, or at least prevent the virus from propagating throughout the body. You have to start taking them within 72 hours of exposure, you have to take them for 28 days, and they are not 100% effective, but really, that they exist at all means we live in a pretty amazing world. There's also such a thing as PrEP, or Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis, which can be taken daily to reduce the risk of becoming infected, meant for HIV-negative people who are at-risk of catching it (i.e., in a monogamous relationship with someone with HIV/AIDS, or someone who does not regularly use condoms). Again, pretty amazing world we live in. Enjoy the story!

**10:**   **Face the Jungle**

"Hey, Kenny?" Jo leaned back against the plastic headboard of the recovery room bed and let his eyes wander to the window. The sunset sky was blocked by a few dark, forbidding rainclouds. His right arm was in a cast, and his left held his cell phone up to his ear. "Yeah, I know, I know, I'm sorry I haven't checked in- whaddya mean, 'I never apologize?'" He was silent as Ken spoke. "But, uh, yeah. Something did happen." The TV in the hall started to repeat a report Jo didn't need to hear:

"Earlier today, a suspected terrorist attack was thwarted at a local mission in Little Shangri-La, where several small home-made explosives were planted in a historical church's basement. Two men have been hospitalized for their involvement. The incident is under investigation, but it is believed that the attack comes in response to the mission's history of activism..."

"Hey, Gage, can ya turn that down?" Gage glanced up from his cell phone from his perch in the little plastic chair by his bed, winced at the anxiety plain in Jo's face, and rushed out to hit the mute. "Sorry, Ken. But, yeah, I can explain." Jo took a picture of the cast on his arm. Jo, however, remained calm, resigned. "I'm not sure you'll believe me, lemme just..." He sent the photo over. "Check your messages." He waited. "Yeah, uh, bit of an accident on my bike. Took a tumble. I'm at Mercy right now getting patched up. The bike's fine, I just-" Gage could hear Ken yelling, but only in faint snatches:

"- don't care about the BIKE, you-" Jo groaned and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Well, that's really nice to hear, thanks." Jo rubbed his brow. "Look, it's nothing serious. The wrist will take six to eight weeks to fix up, and I cracked three ribs. Pretty minor fractures, though. They'll be okay in a month, but the doc says I gotta go on-" Jo was silent when Ken spoke again. He listened for a while, and Gage noticed his eyes shut. "Yeah. Just til the breaks heal, though, I don't think I can sit in the office forever." He looked like he was in pain, face screwed up, and Gage tapped his arm and held out the orange bottle. Jo shook his head, and kept talking. "Thanks, man, thanks..." Gage whined under his breath, and glanced to the hallway. Harley quickly slipped out of view of the doorway, only to back into Father Steele.

"See?" Steele sniffed, arms folded. "He's fine."

"For now," Harley whispered, and Steele cocked an eyebrow, eyes narrowed to slits.

"You both got out of this alright. You just got your second ambulance ride in two weeks, do you know how jealous Gage is? Meanwhile, his boss is probably offering to cover all of his medical care right now. They've dosed him with penicillin and he's got Post Exposure Prophylaxis for that needle he got. He's going to be fine. Get your head out of your ass and enjoy it."

"Mm." Harley folded his arms over his stomach, his eyebrows still wrought up, lips forced in a sorrowful frown by something he couldn't control. Steele observed a moment longer, before pushing on his arm.

"Go talk to him."

"I..." Harley heaved a weary, faint sigh. "I just can't."

"Stop feeling- just-" Steele grunted and kicked off the wall. "I need a smoke." He stalked off, and Harley leaned on the wall, ear just on the frame, as Jo finished his conversation with Ken.

"Thanks again, so much, dude. You really are awesome. I swear, I'll give you a little less shit next time I see you. So, uh, I'll see you tomorrow-" Ken interrupted, and though Gage couldn't hear what he was saying, it sure as hell didn't sound like a suggestion. "Uh. Okay. Next week. Thanks, Ken. G'night." He hung up, and Gage dove in, elbows planted on the edge of Jo's bed.

"See, Dad thought Mr. Ken'd give you a break."

"Ken's a big softie." Jo smirked a little and kicked his feet back. "I just hope he's still feeling soft when he sees the bill for all the medicines he just said he'd pay for."

"Yeah, you sure got a lot!" Gage scooted his knees in, and Jo glanced disdainfully at the line of orange bottles on the table next to his bed. "What are all these, anyway?"

"Shit, I'unno. One of 'em's just prescription-strength ibuprofen, and I gotta take penicillin for a while, plus anti... anti-retro... shit, it's so I don't get HIV, okay?"

"Oh yeah, Dad said that! He said that you gotta take a bunch of pills so you don't get all your girlfriends sick when you try to make babies with 'em!"

"Shit, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Jo cuffed Gage across the head with his cast (lightly, because he could probably hurt both of them if he wasn't careful). "I'm not tryin' to make babies with anybody!"

"But that's what Dad says!" Gage stuck his lower lip out. "That you go out tryin' to make babies with pretty girls and they don't like you, so-"

"It's called sex, stupid! I'd say ask your Dad, but he's never done it, so how the hell would he know?!" Jo grinned and dug the knuckle on his good hand into Gage's noggin. "It's just part of the mating game, and I use condoms."

"What's ketchup got to do with babies?"

"No, you moron! Rubbers. Jimmy hats. You gotta wrap your whacker, or..." Jo trailed off, because he could see Gage's imagination spiraling off into thought bubbles in his brain and building up like a shaken soda bottle, so he just sighed. He was too tired to try and explain. "Look, I can't even make babies."

Harley inhaled sharply from his spot in the hall, as Gage cocked his head. "What? Why not?"

"I got my nuts stomped when I was a kid, and I dunno if your Dad told you, but you got some important stuff in there for making babies. Doctors back then told me I'd never be able to have kids." Jo sighed again, and sat back against the headboard. Gage, for one reason or another, looked supremely disappointed at this prospect. "But I still protect myself, just... yeah. Guess I'll be going easy on the dates for a while anyway." He lifted the arm in the cast to touch the gauze on his neck. "I gotta get checked a couple times for the next six months to be sure I don't have HIV. 'Sides, who wants to get busy with a cripple?" He let his plastered arm drop to the bed with a deep sigh. Gage studied his face and eyes for a moment, frowning, then he hopped up and went to the whiteboard at the front of the room.

"Hey, can I sign your cast?"

"Huh?" Jo looked at the plaster, then the dry-erase marker Gage had found. "Uh, yeah, sure." He held his arm out, and Gage grinned and scrambled over to him. Jo flinched, but his hold was surprisingly gentle.

"See, I heard when someone hurts themselves, you put all your good wishes on the cast so the positive thoughts will go into it and help make it better!" He drew a rectangle. "So, Dad can sign here." He drew another, one a little bigger. "And Harl can sign here. And I get the rest!" He beamed and started to doodle.

Gage drew for a long time, and Harley listened to their conversation without moving. Jo stayed still, patient, muttering answers to all of Gage's rambling as he colored. After a while, Jo asked, "Hey, uh, where's Harl?"

"Huh? Oh, they were taking care of him while they were fixing your arm and stuff. Dad was with him."

"Think I can go see him?"

"Mm, I dunno." Gage glanced back to the door, where Harley's shadow had been but now simply was not. "You oughta let him rest. He was so worn out."

"I just want to talk to him." He hung his head, but Gage put on the biggest smile he had.

"Later, okay?"

It didn't work, Harley never came back, and Jo sat forlorn for a long time. Even when Gage finished and was called away by Father Steele and after Father Steele reluctantly scrawled a "Get well – C.G." in the tiny patch Gage had left for him (after a quiet, pre-emptive "Be nice" from Gage), Jo sat there, stewing.

He had a lot of questions, but he couldn't put them into words and he had nowhere to send what few words he had. He was ready to die for the guy and that was starting to look more and more likely. He couldn't get the name "Gregory" out of his head.

He felt like a chump with his arm in plaster and a battery of pills to take, but there had to be something he could do. He just wasn't sure what it was yet.

* * *

Father Steele came to sign Jo out of the hospital in the morning, but Jo looked right past him and around, then turned to Steele with unspoken panic. Steele didn't wait for him to ask. "I gave Harley a ride to work. His boss wouldn't give him the day," he grumbled as he escorted Jo to the door. "That flashy dick was already lording over Harley how goddamn nice he was to let him leave early yesterday."

"Zack's a prick," Jo agreed without hesitation, as Steele hailed a taxi. He couldn't think of any more words, too much else swirling around his head like soap in a toilet, until Steele cuffed him.

"Eyes open, dork." It sounded a lot gentler than Steele probably meant it to, and he gave him a little push towards the open taxi door. Jo just grunted and crawled in, then went for his cellphone. He managed to get it to his texts with his left hand, and tapped the voice-to-text feature:

"I'll pick you up later." He nudged "send" with his pinky, and Steele closed the door and put his seatbelt on. Jo just collapsed against the seat, limp. He felt used up and wrung out, but he kept telling himself: Don't let this stop you. Harley still needs you.

He didn't want to sit home alone, so he told Steele, and Steele let him bum around the mission for the day. He shadowed Sana, since he at least recognized her, but he noticed she kept glancing over his cast and the multicolored doodles over most of it. "Gage got to you, huh?" Jo nodded a little, hardly looking up from the requisition form Steele had given him to fill in. "What you did... everyone heard. You would have taken a bullet for this place." She paused, mid-pen-stroke. "Or was it just for Mr. Cho?"

"Yeah," Jo muttered, and flipped the page over. Sana narrowed her eyes.

"Which?"

"Yeah." Jo shook his head, then held the paper out. "Hey, why'd the old fart give me these? He knows I can't write like this." Sana maintained an ice-cold stare, then snatched it out of his hand, took her papers, and flounced off. He stayed where he was, his meter just too low for him to move.

He had heard that some animals died of loneliness if a close companion died. That just made him wonder if every time a girl had called him a dog, they meant it.

Five'o'clock rolled around, and Harley stepped out onto the sidewalk to find Jo waiting, his back to the wall and out of sight of the front window. Even Harley could tell it took some effort for Jo to lift his left hand in greeting and smile. Harley cocked his head, then put on a smile. "You came."

"I told you I would, man. You didn't check your messages?" Harley stiffened, but Jo shrugged. "It's dangerous to go alone, y'know." Jo found it took just as much effort to smile as to wave. "Tomorrow, you can take me." Harley's gaze flashed to the cast, and he audibly swallowed. Jo held it up. "Uh, Gage-"

"Let's go back, shall we?" Harley lowered his shoulders, arms tight across his chest like they were bolted there, and moved past Jo as if he weren't there. "Father Steele won't miss me tonight." Jo felt invisible, and that hurt as much as any stares or glares he'd ever gotten.

Harley made and served dinner in silence. Jo kept trying to think of a good way to break through, but Harley seemed so stiff and distant. He felt like anything he said wouldn't make it through the cold space around him. It looked and smelled as good as it always did, but the company was cold. Harley sat in his place, shuffling food around the plate more than usual. Jo'd had no trouble with his sandwich at lunch, but while Harley had been nice enough to cook bite-sized pieces, he still struggled to manage his fork with his left hand. He heard Harley suppress a whimper when he fumbled the fork. Jo shot him a nervous look, and the nicest, most benign smile he could fake.

"I always wanted to learn how to do stuff with my left hand. Righty's a lot stronger, y'know?" He managed to get the fork into a good hold and made chicken meet tongue. "Mm, it's damn good. Even when you're in a shit mood, you can put-"

"Joel." Harley put his fork down, giving up any pretense of eating, and folded his hands on the table, as pleasant as a school principal after you get caught with spray paint. "I've decided to move on."

"Wh-what?" He hadn't meant to stutter, but it escaped before he could shut it down. "Back to the shelter?"

"Oh, no." Harley shook his head, and Jo could almost see him tying the strings on his mask and putting on that big, bright, awful fucking smile that meant nothing. "I'm tired of Chance Harbor. I've lived here my whole life, and I'd like to see new places. Philadelphia, perhaps. Akron might be a nice change of pace, and I understand there's a large contingency of Shangri-La immigrants there-"

"But, you were going back to school, weren't you?"

"Credits transfer." Harley's hands trembled.

Jo would have stopped, but this, this needed to be pushed. "What about work?"

Harley bowed his head, though not buckling under the pressure. "I'm sure I can find something. I'm willing to do nearly anything."

"Harl, you'll be alone." Jo was watching it like a VHS tape in his brain, Harley, isolated in a white box, putting a pistol against his skull. Harley's shoulders slumped.

"I'll make do, eventually."

"And what about your parole, Harl?" Jo put his fists on the table. The impact reverberated through his cast. "There's more guys in jail for violating parole than actually breaking the law, you break your parole and you'll be going in actual jail this time!"

Harley's smile flickered for a split second, and his voice was a little shaky when he answered. "I suppose they'd stop seeking me, eventually. I'd just be another face in the crowd."

Jo just saw his face in the dirt, Harley evaporating into nothing like ash burned off the end of a cigarette. "Fuck. You're full'a shit." He shoved his plate back and pushed himself up over the table, looming over Harley. "You know, that poker face of yours might work on fucking anyone else, but that rotten smile you're wearing gives you dead away." He shook his head, and the smile that came with the words he strung together next was as wrung out as he was: "I get it, man. You don't want me in your mess. Newsflash, dude, I already am in your mess." He patted his wrapped arm. "And lemme tell ya what." He set both hands on his hips. "I might be in knee-deep, but I'm ready to go up to my nose for you."

"Why?" The word had clearly been surprised out of Harley, as if he'd been hit with a hammer and gotten it knocked out. Jo shook his head in disbelief.

"Because we're friends, stupid." He put his fists down on the table to steady himself again, and his eyes dropped. "Look, I mean, this is gonna sound pathetic, but you're the only friend I got." Harley stared at him, eyes wide and reflective like green marbles, and Jo shook his head a little. "I mean, the monkey is cool, and I can talk to guys at work, but you, you actually like spending time with me, you don't take advantage of me, you'll hang out and play poker and watch movies with me, no strings attached, 'cause I wanted to and you didn't mind." His eyes and face felt hot, like Harley's laser-bright gaze could burn a hole in him. "I mean... shit, I don't even know what I mean anymore. Just, that thing was strapped to my chest, and I wasn't thinking about anything but how much it absolutely sucked that finally, someone gives a shit about me and I have to die that goddamned soon. Hell," and he had to laugh at himself, "I'm probably a pretty shitty friend to have, anyway." Harley didn't contradict him, still caught up in staring. Jo couldn't lift his head anymore, his shoulders tense but his arms limp. "I just dragged you along for the ride with me, doing stuff I wanted. Made you buy groceries 'cause I didn't know what to get." He lifted his palm to his chest. "Look, I get that I'm a pain to live with. Hell, I wouldn't even blame you for wanting to move on just to get away from me!" That hand curled into a fist, and his other hand slammed down on the table again. "But if you're just trying to cut me out so I don't get hurt, then you're barking up the wrong tree. I don't walk away from people I care about, and I damn sure won't let them walk away from me! And shit, if I really am that bad, then tell me how to get better!" He tried to clench the hand in the cast, but it just hurt, and Jo released his frustration with a stomp. "Just don't leave over this stupid bullshit!"

"Joel." Harley's voice was small, but curious. "Does it... does it really mean that much to you?"

"You're goddamn right it does!" The passion flared in him, and he stood fully upright at his place, shoulders back and confident now. "If you hate me, fine, you're not alone, but at least stick it out until we can fix this! If you want me to fix me, I will, but don't you dare lie to me 'cause you think I can't take your shit! Fuck!" He threw his hands up and turned a half step away. "I'd rather die than be alone again!" The room was silent, as the words echoed in his own head. He wasn't sure where they'd come from, but they rang damn true. Harley was slowly, slowly apprising him like he was examining a tomato at the supermarket, and Jo's face felt hotter than ever. "Look, that came out wrong, but-"

"Ah, dear." Harley suddenly smiled, and not a poker-face smile, either. "I just remembered, I can't possibly move out until I've taught you to cook for yourself." Jo felt all the heat in his cheeks blaze out and turn to stinging cold. Harley settled his gaze on Joel, and spoke a little softer and a lot less coy. "You've convinced me. It seems I'm not so tired of this city after all." He giggled a bit, and picked up his fork and his chipper, conversational tone. "I at least have to wait until your arm has healed. I won't be able to teach you a thing in that condition."

"Heh." Jo sank back down into his chair, deflating and a little embarrassed. "Well, good luck teaching me anything anyway. I'll be the worst student you've ever had."

"Goodness." Harley, miraculously, took a full bite, chewed, and swallowed. "I'll have to teach you if I'm to go anywhere."

"Don't think I wanna learn."

They ate the rest of their meals in silence. Jo hardly finished half. Harley wrapped most of his up and put it away for lunch the next day. They sat, each in his own space, Jo listening to music and watching the stoplight change color through the blinds, Harley slowly flipping through his journal. Neither really had to ask what the other was thinking, because each already knew:

They might have made it through today, but they had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, or even the tomorrow after that. They sure as all hell didn't know how they were going to deal with that deep, dark unknown, or even the smirking evil they both knew all too well.

* * *

Jo walked Harley to work, and didn't leave until he saw him go up the stairs to his office. It gave Zack a good, long minute to gawk at his cast. Jo picked up on it, and met him with a sneer. "The fuck you starin' at?"

"You, dipshit." Zack snarled right back at him, but his face softened a little when he looked back at the cast. "You, uh, fall off doin' a trick on your bike or somethin'?"

"That's how you'd do it, smartass." He grimaced as he tried to move his fingers again. "Long story, anyway. You actually care?"

"Nah." Zack kicked back into his chair, then gestured. "Whoever drew the Superman symbol on your elbow did a real good job, though." He smirked. "You somebody's hero?"

Jo tried to look at the symbol, but couldn't turn his arm that far without making it feel like something was biting him. "You sure it ain't Batman?"

"Definitely the Supes shield." Zack whistled and waggled his eyebrows. "Got one of them nerds hanging off ya? I kinda like the glasses thing. I bet she's damn cute."

"Yeah," Jo agreed quietly. "Damn cute." He decided to leave off the part about it being a twelve-year-old boy and left the conversation at that.

Jo tried to take the time to catch up on some daytime junk food TV, but he found himself hearing his phone making phantom chimes, and checked it every minute or so just in case he had a text or a missed call. He hoped that Harley trusted him enough to let him know if something was up.

It was after Dr. Phil and before Ellen that his phone did ring, but he almost missed it. He had leaned out the window into the late spring heat to take in a cigarette, watching the steam rise off the road and the air in front of the traffic lights waver like streamers over a vent. The cars screaming below, sirens somewhere beyond the mid-rises, the distant bellow of boat horns. All he could think was about how many dark, evil smiles were waiting out there for him. He nearly tuned out the ringtone behind him, until he remembered what city he was staring at and whipped around to scramble for it.

Not a text, an actual ring, and Jo fumbled in his left hand to get it to his ear. "Uh, yo!" He grinned, making an effort to communicate his false calm in his voice. It didn't work, but Harley wasn't even trying on his end.

"Joel." His voice quavered. "Joel, I've received a very strange text from Gage."

Oh, fuck. "Y-yeah?" Jo slumped onto the couch, and his head landed on the back. "What's that?"

"It says, 'I followed some strange kids from school to play soccer, and I'm lost now. Please come and pick me up, and don't tell Father Steele!'" Harley paused. "It's not Gage. The grammar's too good, and-"

"Yeah, Gage doesn't call him 'Father Steele.'" Jo sat up and yanked his boots on, wrapped the laces around and tucked them in. "Does it say where to pick him up?"

"Yes, it says he's at the intersection of Fifty-Ninth and Jackson." Jo winced- that was the dockyard. That was right at the asscrack between the Sharks' and the Cents' territory.

"You ain't goin' alone, Harl."

"It's a long walk. I'll try and call Father Steele. Meet me at Twenty-Ninth and Garfield, I'm getting a start now!" He hung up without saying goodbye, and Jo sunk against the couch.

Forgetting his manners. Harley was definitely upset.

Without his bike, and with a dull ache still haunting his chest, it was a slow walk, twenty blocks north and a few east. He weaved around unseeing, exhausted dock workers staggering home or for the bar, deaf to the children shouting at each other in Korean on their bikes or skateboards. The sky was starting to turn dusky gold and brown, clouds gathering overhead. If it didn't storm tonight, it was going to crash down like a hurricane tomorrow. Jo didn't have an umbrella, or anything but a hairtie and a heavy arm in a sling. He had no idea what he was walking into, and walking this far was hell on his lungs, but damn if he wouldn't make the walk. He kept a cigarette at his lips and his eyes on the road, and his brain buzzing like a table saw on overdrive with everything humming inside of him.

Yesterday, he had been twenty-two, facing the inside of a coffin, shiftless, futureless, and hopeless except for one good friend in the world. Nothing had changed between today and the day before, had it?

He still had that one good friend. He hoped he could walk away with him.

Harley was waiting on the southeast side of the intersection, his flip phone at his ear, still chewing his lower lip. Jo caught the last of his conversation as he crossed Garfield. "... please, if you see him, or hear from him, call me. Thank you, Sana." Jo's heart convulsed as Harley flipped his phone shut.

"You can't reach the Father?"

"No." Harley chewed his lower lip again. "No, he's not at the shelter."

"Call his cell!"

"He doesn't have one."

"Son of a bitch!" Jo kicked the lamp post and swore at his foot. Harley winced, but twiddled his fingers together.

"Sana... Sana said he got a call, took it in his office, then left without saying a word to anyone about where he was going. I have a feeling I'm not the only one who received a message from Gage." His head sunk, looking as broken down as a ship out of a storm. "Go home."

"What?" Jo whirled around to face him. "Harl-" He could see that goddamn look, and grabbed Harley's collar. "I don't care if I'm useless, you got me?! I ain't abandoning you now!" He let go, and Harley stumbled back with the momentum. Jo pushed his good thumb to his chest. "I can't stop you from throwin' your life away on this bastard, and if he's messin' with Gage, you couldn't stop me, either. We're goin' together."

Harley had to give Jo a long, slow appraisal, head to heaving chest to strong stance, and nodded. "So we will."

The rest of the walk was silent, as Jo's head continued to swirl with questions, wracking him like a storm of butterflies. He knew what Ysidro wanted now, sure, but why? The sky darkened with the coming storm outside of his head, too, and as the first few drops darkened the pavement with heavy, thick splotches of gray on gray, one thought started to overtake him: "Christ, I hope the rain holds on a little."

The intersection at the block in Gage's message was the opening to a warehouse park, green-copper and rust-colored corrugated steel sheds lining a littered road marked with crushed cola cans, broken bottles, cigarette butts and boxes and plastic bags. Jo took a few steps in and tried the nearest door. The padlock on it might have been old and splashed with dried dust, but it was still doing its job. "I dunno, man." He glanced back to Harley, who stared, haunted, at the cracked black windows looming from the second stories. "This might just be an ambush. If Steele's on his way here, we ought'a wait for him."

"I think," Harley started, voice distant and dazed, "if he were here, he'd be deeper in, already looking."

"Then let's go, what're we waiting for?!" Jo barged forward, and Harley burst into a run after him. Jo wheezed a deep breath, and shouted it out: "Yo! Padre! Gage!" The warehouse lot was big, but empty, and Jo was listening for anything that might have been footsteps nearby.

"Perhaps," Harley suggested, panting at his pauses, "you should look elsewhere. He might not... he might..."

That's when they heard him: "You won't have to look far." Words that sounded like they'd slid out of an oboe in a sewage pipe. Jo whipped around to face that horrifying, familiar face. Charon Ysidro sat at the end of one of the gaps between the buildings on top of a dumpster, holding a few cards in his hand with the rest laid out at his hands in either solitaire or a tarot spread, chewing on the end of what Jo was pretty sure was a thinly-rolled joint. He smirked his usual crooked crescent at the two of them. "Goodness, you two must be joined at the hip. I do hope you use protection, Joel Sha; you never know what you'll catch when you get stuck by a stranger."

Jo damn near retched right there, but Harley stepped in front of him, wearing a mask Jo hadn't seen before: a cold blank. "If you know where Father Steele is, I'll ask you to kindly share."

"Of course!" He sounded teenage eager as he jumped off the dumpster, knocking his cards away, and threw open the front access door. Steele was curled inside, mouth wrapped in duct-tape and hands and legs bound with that white rope meant to tie mattresses or boxes to the roof of your car. He was conscious and clearly enraged as Ysidro dragged him out and flung him, belly-side-down, flat out onto the dirt. "That pesky little pistol of his won't get in your way again, Gregory."

The vomit Jo had swallowed spewed back as anger: "Who the fuck is Gregory?!" Jo shook Harley's arm, hoping to knock the wide-eyes off of his face. "This guy is named Harley! You got the wrong guy!"

Ysidro scoffed. "Naïve boy. No wonder you spread your legs for Benjamin Rihan." He trudged towards them, dragging his long, dirty fingernails on the close wall, and Jo lunged. Harley caught him with an arm out.

"Your arm, and your ribs, you can't. Not this time." His voice and face were soft, piteous, and Jo's heart wrung its strings into a knot.

"Harl..." Harley moved his arm back like a barrier and stepped out in front of Jo.

"What would you have me do, Ysidro? Surely it's a game, more complicated than hide-and-seek or solitaire." He advanced, back ramrod straight and tight like a wound spring. Ysidro's face tightened to an ugly smirk.

"You misjudge me, Gregory Cho." He splayed a hand out at Steele, prostate on his belly at Harley's feet. "I am a simple man, with simple desires. Kill him."

Jo hurtled forward again. "Harl, no!" Harley held a hand up, ninety-degrees at the elbow, a very clear 'stop.'

"Joel, it's okay."

"Shit. Shit!" Jo stepped back. "I'm calling the fuckin' cops-"

"Ah, ah, ah." Ysidro whipped his hand up, displaying a familiar brick cell phone. "You still don't know where the boy is." He crushed the phone in his hand and dropped shards of plastic to the ground. "Have a heart, won't you? I have no intention of harming a little child."

"I kill him," Harley murmured, set and deadly and barely audible even in the tight space, "you'll tell us where Gage is."

"Harl, no, there's gotta be another way!"

"That's inadequate." Harley lifted his head, eyes sharp and piercing into Ysidro's. "You will walk me to him."

Ysidro smirked, lips thin like a snake. "Only if your friend shuts up and watches."

"I see. Is that all?" Harley gingerly stepped over Steele's body and rolled him to his back. Jo winced as Harley knelt and planted his knee in Steele's gut and pinned him by his shoulder. Steele's eyes widened, but Jo couldn't make out Harley's expression behind the fall of his hair and the crack in his glasses lens. "Then we've an agreement."

"We do." Ysidro's face brightened with delight, like a kid at Christmas, and Harley sighed and dug his knee into Steele's belly, leaned down next his ear for a moment, and then wrapped his hands around his throat.

Jo couldn't tear his eyes away.

Steele struggled, hissing air and spittle through the duct tape, but his head sank back down as the pressure got to be too much, and finally stilled. His eyelids half-lowered, dull, and his body flattened to the ground. Harley slowly stood up, staring down at him, then kicked his side. Steele didn't react.

There was silence, as Harley contemplated Steele's body. "Honestly," he said after a moment, "I had warned him he should eat better. Always had such a scrawny little neck." He sharply turned to Ysidro, his smile wiped clean away, his eyes and whole face dead and cold. "Satisfied?"

"Hm. No." Ysidro mock-pouted and rubbed at his eye. "I had hoped for tears. He was your friend, wasn't he?"

"Ahaha." Jo got chills, because he'd heard that laugh so many times but never in this light. Harley put on a smile. "I'm afraid my heart is just too small for that sort of thing. If you want to watch my heart break, you'll need a microscope." The smile dropped, the levity vanished from his voice. "Return the boy."

Jo was gonna be sick. He was going to spew and shit himself and scream all at once. His only friend had just killed a man, and didn't care.

"Harley, what the fuck?!" He scrambled back as Ysidro swaggered past him and Harley stepped over Steele to follow. "You, god damn it, you- I'm calling the fucking cops!"

"Oh, no, don't." Harley zeroed in on him, eyes like dark, reflective pinballs. "You wouldn't call the police on a friend, would you?"

"You sick fuck, I'm not friends with a killer! You killed a man, Harl!"

"I've killed a few men." Jo stopped cold, but Harley didn't break eye contact. "I suppose I'll at least remember this one."

"You are a fucking psycho!" Jo grabbed a handful of his own hair. The rain had started in earnest, and the strands ran between his fingers like so much blood. "Jesus fucking Christ, I should've known better than to pick up the first fucking stranger I feel sorry for." He shook his head, eyes wide, voice haggard with disbelief: "I don't even fucking know you."

Harley met his eyes with the same intense stare, but after a moment, his face split into a wicked grin, and he dropped his head back, laughing at the obscured sky. Jo stood in disbelief, until Ysidro whistled.

"Gregory, come." Harley silenced immediately, jaw clapping shut, and he whirled on his heel. Jo held fast, like a dog between a stick and a gas chamber, and looked helplessly back at Steele.

"Hey, we just gonna leave him? I mean, he's an ass, but he deserves better than..." He trailed off, fixed on the rain soaking Father Steele's cassock and skin. His eyes, fishlike and lifeless when last Jo had looked, had sunken closed. Harley, instead, followed Ysidro. Jo grunted and bolted to Steele's side, dropping down next to him. He yanked the duct tape from his mouth, then pulled the cords loose from his hands and legs and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry. I don't know Last Rites or nothing, but... shit..." He dug into Steele's pocket and took out the two bottles. "I'll be sure Gage gets these, okay?" He crossed Steele's forehead with his index finger, then hurried after Ysidro and Harley, following their footprints in the dusty road.

They'd turned a few corners before Jo caught up, following their footprints in the thin mud forming in the packed dust. Ysidro's gaze sparked when Jo caught up, and he quickly dodged around to croon into Jo's ear. "Why, who knew you could be so sweet to a dead man?"

"Fuck you."

He tittered like a girl against the shell of Jo's ear. "Do you know why he did that?"

"You told him to, you fuck."

"He has free will. A man who won't kill simply won't, can't, even if he's told. I've done you a favor, Joel Sha. He's shown you exactly what kind of monster he is." Jo shuddered, but he had no retort. He just stared at the thin form of Harley's back, as Ysidro tipped his head towards him. "Left into the next offshoot." He then smirked and leaned into Jo again as they turned, and it took all of Jo's willpower not to smack the taste out of his mouth. The second they found Gage, Jo would put a new dent in the guy's skull, even if he cracked his arm right in two. And still, the nasty bastard insisted on talking to him. "Aren't you so much happier now that you know?"

"Fuck you."

"Ohoho, no, no, Fuck you, Joel Sha. I've met your Benjamin, you know. Lovely man; such soft hands. Was he your first? Or were you taken before he plucked you up from the street?"

"Fuck you."

"I never had the man myself, but was his cock long, or fat?" His tongue brushed the edge of Jo's earlobe, and Jo's nausea gurgled back up. "I must ask, you know. If you'd lay down for Benjamin Rihan and dear, dear Gregory, I imagine you'd be happy to share that beautiful body of yours with me, as well."

"Fuck you, ain't nothin' to share!" Jo slammed on his own brakes and shoved Ysidro away. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Harley chose that moment to interrupt flatly: "Where is Gage?" Ysidro's fists had clenched when Jo pushed him, but he whirled on his heel and selected one of the storage units. He unlocked it and threw the door open with a flourish, revealing Gage inside, bound and gagged but fast asleep. Jo moved closer, until he saw Harley's face, and Ysidro saw the same.

"Oh, now tears, Gregory? I thought your heart was too small."

"Tears of joy, Ysidro." Harley smiled, and Jo suddenly felt a slim but strong hand on his shoulder pushing him out of the way. "Tears of joy."

Steele barged past Jo, very much alive and as enraged as Jo had ever seen him, and caught Ysidro across the back of his head with the butt of his pistol. Ysidro fell down like a ton of bricks, and Steele whirled around on the others. "Hold him down!" Jo would never argue with a guy with a gun, and he dove onto Ysidro's legs and pinned him, and Harley seized his shoulders. Steele made quick work of the knots on Gage's legs and arms, then tore the duct tape off of his mouth. The shock woke him up, and he moaned.

"Oww! Dad- Dad!" He threw his arms around Steele's neck. Steele flinched, but patted his back, then released him, turned, and planted his foot on Ysidro's chest.

"Happy reunions later. Gage, sit on the bad guy." He pointed, using his pistol, and Gage swiftly hopped over and straddled Ysidro's stomach with all of his weight. Ysidro was already awake, and trying to gnaw at Harley's hands.

"You sick freaks! You can't do this to me!" He screamed and gnashed his teeth, but Jo, still using his body weight to hold the left leg down, wrapped his good arm around Ysidro's right knee and torqued back with all his weight until he felt the joint pop at the hip. He smirked as Ysidro howled.

"Oh, was that your leg?" He twisted, and Ysidro screamed. "On a scale of one to ten, dude-"

Steele whacked Jo across the back of his head. "Someone get me a cell phone!"

"Jesus," Jo spat, then bared his teeth in a wide, wide grin. "Y'know, Padre, I was just sayin'..."

Ysidro soon fell limp like a doll with its battery pack pulled out, as Steele paced nearby with Harley's cell phone at his ear. Jo could spot a slight stagger, and heard Steele finish: "Send an ambulance. I have a head injury." He tossed the phone back to them and collapsed against the wall.

"Jesus, dude." Jo shook his head, as Gage twisted around with a whimper.

"M'sorry, Dad."

"No." Harley didn't lift his head, but Jo's eyes shot right to him, because it was the first time he'd spoken since Steele had, apparently, risen from the dead. "This is my doing."

Guilt settled against Jo's shoulders like a heavy arm, but before he could say something to try and take it off of him and maybe Harley, too, sirens wailed too close, and any words he had dissolved to a laugh. "Shit." He shook his head around, his eyes on the ground through the red hanging off of him. "We're alive." He smiled at Gage, who smiled encouragingly right back. "What a goddamn world..." Harley, too, smiled, but with his head bowed, Jo couldn't tell if the water streaming down his face was from the sky or elsewhere.

The cops got to them first, got Ysidro out from under Gage, Jo, and Harley. The first thing Gage did was point down at him and say, "Hiya, Officer Ren, Officer Po! Uh, this is gonna sound weird, but this guy grabbed me while I was walking home from school, tied me up and shoved me in his van, and I woke up in a closet. I'm pretty sure I got kidnapped." Jo wasn't sure which part shocked him most, so he started from the top:

"Dude, do you know every police officer in the quarter?"

Steele made his own report to the police officer with sharp eyes and nicotine-stained fingers, even as the paramedics arrived to examine him and the officer with glasses rolled Ysidro over and cuffed him, while cheerfully explaining, "Even without the new kidnapping charges, there's assault charges, other kidnapping charges, lots and lots of outstanding warrants. I don't think he'll be troubling you further." He hoisted Ysidro up, and he moaned as he put weight on his bad leg. Jo withheld a snicker as he got dragged to the paddy wagon, until he noticed Harley had gotten up and made for the main path. Jo felt a sting of panic and gave chase.

"Hey, man! Bus stop's the other way!" Harley halted at Jo's shout, braced his shoulders, then started again. "I mean," Jo tried, trying as hard to sound casual and cool as he stumbled after Harley, "I figured we were gonna get the brat and his Dad home safe, maybe hang with 'em and be sure they're okay before we headed back." Harley sped up, and Jo matched, dropping any pretense of this being a normal conversation. "Hell, if you wanna go home, that's cool, just, wait for me, yeah?" Harley shivered, and Jo finally broke into a run and caught his shoulder. "C'mon, man, where ya headed?"

"Away. Elsewhere." Harley drew to a stop, but didn't turn to face Joel. "You're not friends with a killer, and I-"

"I was wrong! I was wrong, I was wrong, okay, I- I thought you killed the guy!"

"I've killed a few people, Joel." His smile trembled, and his thin shoulders sank. "You don't know me, you said so yourself."

"Yeah, I did say that." Jo seized him with his good hand and the fingers on his right and turned him around. He slid in the mud, but Jo held him fast. He shook his head a little, rainwater splashing off of him. "And I'm so goddamn sorry. I should'a known you'd never hurt the old man." Harley's jaw fell and hung like it didn't close on its own, and Jo gave him a little shake. "We're friends, man. I should'a believed in you. I'm-" He jabbed his chest with his thumb- "Me, I'm wrong for that. Not you. This ain't your fault, man! Do I gotta shake it into you?"

"Joel-"

"What do I gotta do?" Jo smiled earnestly, desperately. "How do I make it up to you? I wanna get to know you! How do I do that?"

"Joel-"

"I don't want you to just walk away, you're the best friend I got!"

"Jo!" Jo stopped, because he wasn't sure Harley'd ever not called him "Joel." Harley put both of his hands over Jo's and smiled. "September 19th."

"What?"

"That's my birthday. Now you know something about me." His eyes softened, and Jo could tell for sure that was just rainwater in his eyes, and the look in his eyes was heart-melting. "Is that better?"

"Uh..."

"Or more? Let's see." Harley backed away and started numbering his fingers, finally looking whole even in the dirt of the rusty warehouses and the stained sky. "Ah, my favorite color is green, hunter green or forest green. I enjoy indie rock music and writing poetry, but you knew that. My favorite song is 'Myriad Harbour,' by the New Pornographers, but I'm very partial to The Decemberists as well, everything but their 'The King is Dead' album." He tapped a few more fingers off, and Jo's jaw sank open. "My favorite food is teriyaki chicken, but not my own recipe. It was one I had at a restaurant as a teenager, and I've been trying to recreate it since. I took evening community college courses during high school to learn basic chef skills, so that I could work my way through college proper in a restaurant. My ambition was, and remains, to design educational programs for children to make computer usage both educational and interesting. I have been under counseling for anorexia since I was twelve." Jo's heart was ready to burst, as Harley folded one arm over his chest and met his gaze, green eyes dark under the storming sky. "Hector Maoh and Charon Ysidro raped and murdered my foster sister in front of me, and though I can no longer remember what happened in the aftermath, I know my hands will never be clean." He held his palms up to catch rain, and his face dropped towards the ground. "I will never truly recover. They burned my heart to nothing when they destroyed her remains, and I have none left."

Jo put his hand over Harley's. "Hey, that's a lie." Harley startled, and Jo clenched his hand. "You got plenty heart, man. You just don't get all emotional like me, and it keeps you from saying stupid shit like I do. You keep your head cool, and look." He threw his arm back, to Steele limping towards one of the cop cars parked outside of the gate, with one hand guiding Gage by the shoulder. "You saved me before, saved both of them- you're a damned hero."

"I'm a vigilante. I only took revenge-"

"Father Steele did that part."

"It doesn't change-"

"Harl." Jo put as much meaning into it as he could and held onto Harley's shoulders again. "It's cool." He gave him a little throttle. "I get it now. Now, are you seriously gonna walk away from me again, or are we gonna get in that cop car and take a free ride home?"

Harley considered him for a moment, then smiled coyly. "I suppose I must. It's only fair, unless you tell me some of your deep, dark secrets." He winked, and Jo smirked.

"November 9th. I'll be twenty-three this year."

"Oh, you're younger than I am!"

"Shit, for real?"

"Oh, I would hope you did, otherwise you'd have an awful stomachache after a few days."

"Harley!"

"Joel." A beat, as the two met eyes, no masks, no veils, nothing between them but air and rain. Then, they laughed, because for once, all was well.

"Come on, man, let's get father and son over there home." He slung an arm over Harley's shoulder to lead him, and Harley leaned into his touch as if weak. Jo leaned right back into him, the sort of hold he didn't want to get out of, and for once, he wasn't thinking about jail in a downpour.


	11. Kath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo learns more about Gregory and his dear, dear sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 5/8, everybody! I didn't plan this at all. (Okay maybe a little.)
> 
> Ah, trigger warning for quite a few things here: Eating disorders, bullying, mentions of rape, blood, and canon-typical violence. I have been and will be updating the tags accordingly. Proceed with caution.

**11: Kath**

Steele scoffed as Harley threw back the sheets on his bed and pointed at it. "It's a minor concussion. It's just a headache."

"It's my understanding you took a club to the back of the head, but even a minor concussion can cause lasting damage if you don't treat it properly." Harley smiled, but he set his stance. "The hospital might have released you, but you should at least rest and take it easy until your symptoms fade. A decent night's sleep, for one."

"I don't-"

"Dad," Gage whined from the door. "Please."

Steele scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you'll stop making that face." He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his cassock, then shot a sharp sneer to Jo just outside of his office. "Fuck off, no tits to see here."

"Oh, like I actually care." Jo shuffled a few steps away, protecting the "good" Father's "dignity," and only listened as Harley ushered him into bed.

"Please, just get a good night's sleep. Joel and I will stay tonight."

"Do whatever you want."

Jo glanced back to Gage. "You okay, kiddo?"

Gage shook his head, and Jo turned, hand out to comfort him, until he grabbed his stomach. "I'm starving! That jerkwad made us all miss dinner!"

Jo shook his head and chuckled, then rested his casted arm on Gage's shoulder. "Well, hey, how about I order you, me, an' Harl some Chinese food? I know this place that does a killer teriyaki chicken, and they do these awesome steamed gyoza that you'll kill for..."

Dinner came to the front door in brown paper bags, and the three of them ate in companionable quiet in the vestibule (since Jo didn't order enough to share with 30 drifters). Gage and Jo had a brief duel with their chopsticks over the last gyoza, but Jo let him have it, since he wasn't having an easy time working his chopsticks with his left hand anyway. After that, Harley "borrowed" two toothbrushes from the supply closet (because Jo opened them from the cardboard packages and sure as hell wasn't putting them back), as well as a clean but clearly secondhand tee.

"I hope you don't mind that I've volunteered us to stay the night." He sounded truly apologetic, even bowing a bit as Jo took the shirt from him. "If Father Steele's symptoms should worsen tonight, I'd rather be here, and while Gage is taking this very well, I..." He trailed off, and bit his lip. "He likes you. I'd like him to have someone to talk to if he should need something."

"I'm down." Jo shrugged loosely. "If the kid needs me, I'll do what I can."

Harley fell asleep in one of the vacant bunks. Jo hadn't seen where Gage went, and found himself looking around the room for where he ended up for a long while. Soon enough, he admitted to himself that he just couldn't sleep, and rolled out of his borrowed bunk and sat at one of the tables. He wasn't alone long, as a small body soon landed next to his. Gage leaned his head on his shoulder.

"Can't sleep?" He shook his head, the tips of his bangs brushing the bare skin of his forearm. Jo patted his side. "Go get some playing cards, kiddo."

Gage was a little drowsy, but woke up more and more as Jo shuffled the cards and explained the rules of Spider Solitaire to him in low tones, audible over the quiet snoring and muttering from the occupied beds around the hall. "It sounds easy, yeah? Easy as pie? Well, from what I've seen, pie ain't easy, and this takes a lotta learnin'." He passed the deck to Gage. "We can do the first few together."

"Thanks, Jojo." Gage beamed, and set up the game as Jo described. Jo helped him with the first few steps, then sat back to let Gage try, think, and try again.

"So, uh, you've been here since you were six, your Dad said."

"Uh-huh."

"Uh, Harl mentioned he had a foster sister, and I'm pretty sure he and Steele go way back. Did you ever meet her?"

"Yeah, I knew Kathy." Gage put the card in his hand down and hung his head. "Kath was awesome."

Jo's head sank a little too. "Yeah, I bet. Jeez, nobody thought to tell me he had a sister who got offed."

Gage whimpered, shoulders hunched down. "Dad says m'not supposed to talk about it. Not in front of Harl, or anyone who doesn't know, or just 'cause it makes me kinda sad. I know it's important to remember, but it still hurts, y'know? An' it's sort of a secret, with Harl and all..."

"Well, I know now. Can ya tell me?" Jo turned around to Gage and put his elbow on the table. Gage chewed his lip again.

"Well, I guess-" Just then, there was a familiar rustle of paper as a newspaper came down on Gage's head.

"Idiot." Father Steele folded his arms as Jo and Gage looked up at him, arms crossed and rolled paper still in his hand. Without his cassock, wearing just a black tank and shorts and his own pale skin, he looked weirdly small to Jo. The bandages around his head hadn't changed his attitude, though. "You're both so noisy." He fixed Jo with a glare. "If you're going to badger Gage into telling someone else's secrets, then you may as well hear the whole story."

Steele ushered the both of them into his office, and shut the door. "Sit. Both of you. Gage, you too. You're old enough, might as well know everything." Jo sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Steele took the other, and Gage plopped down, cross-legged, on the floor. Steele let his weighty gaze rest on both of them, eyes far too old, and he released a weary sigh. "I was ten when we first met. He was sour, sullen, and unpleasant; a year my junior, but still stared down his nose at me."

"Fuck, you're older than me too?"

"Quiet." Steele narrowed his gaze, but continued, "The Cho Sisterhood Foster House had some agreement with my predecessor, and other missions in the city. They'd sent volunteers in groups of two or three once a week, and  _lucky_  for me, we were  _blessed_  with one Gregory Cho..."

* * *

_He was tubby, chubby cheeks and a pouched belly in a sweater older than he was, sulking at the side of the nun escorting him. He didn't lift his head from the book open in his hand, but Father Connor Steele beamed down at his young charge. "You see, he's about your age. I thought it would be nice for you to meet a boy your age, so I asked the Sisters to assign him here. This is Greg." The nun, too, patted Greg's shoulder._

_"Gregory, this is C-"_

_Connor cheerfully cut in, "Oh, but for short, we call him C-"_

_"Just call me Gabe," he muttered, and held his hand out. Gregory, with his narrow little green eyes behind thick, horn-rimmed glasses, scowled back at him like a crow interrupted from its carrion._

_"I'm not interested." He closed his book and looked up at the nun. "Just tell me what you want me to do so we can leave." Gabe promptly dropped his hand._

_"Whatever."_

_Gabe and Greg didn't talk except for instructions, sweep that, dry this, and Connor clicked his tongue sadly to the nun observing Greg from the doors of the kitchen. "The poor things. I know he has a hard time in school, I suppose I'd thought your Greg might crack his shell a little."_

_"To be honest, Father, we'd hoped the same." She sighed. Gabe could hear them clearly, and from the frown affixed to Greg's face, so could he. "Greg came to us when he was five, under unusual circumstances. Since the day he came to us, he's isolated himself deliberately, in books and television. He refuses to associate with the other children his age. I suppose we'd hoped setting him up with a child as taciturn as your ward might give them something to talk about, even if it's just how much they hate everything else. It's a shame, because Greg is so smart!"_

_"No, no, C- doesn't hate everything. He's just shy because he's teased for being a child to a single father." Connor smiled sadly and shook his head. "He's a sweet boy. Does your Greg hate everything? Perhaps they have less in common than I'd hoped."_

_"I'm afraid he knows how he came to be in our care, and it haunts him. Besides, he's lonely." The sister heaved a sigh, her wimple sliding around as she shook her head. "He's teased, too. It's just awful, but he refuses to talk to anybody about it."_

_Greg shoved an armful of pots at Gabe. "Put this stuff away. I'm bored of this."_

_"I don't care," Gabe shot back. "You're here to help, so help."_

_"I don't care either." Greg dropped the clean pots to a loud clatter on the ground and stormed off. The nun gasped and chased him, shouting his name, and Connor rushed over and knelt by Gabe._

_"That wasn't your fault," he assured him quietly, but Gabe hadn't even thought so in the first place._

_Gregory Cho was miserable, and he didn't seem to want to be happy, either._

* * *

"We saw each other rarely over those first few years." Steele had lit up a cigarette, which made Jo itch for one except his jacket was in the other room, and he didn't want to miss a word of this to go get it. "He went to the same school as I did, a private Catholic academy, but we shared no classes. He came to the mission every Saturday with the other volunteers to help clean, and the two of us avoided one another. He was still sullen and miserable, and nothing changed but his height. He did exactly what he was told, then stuck his nose in a book and his ass in a corner." His chin dropped a bit, and he rested his palm on Gage's head. "I suppose I should have noticed three years later, when he started rapidly dropping weight. No. I should have thought to say something when I did see him at school..."

* * *

_"Ugh!" Gabe turned from the water fountain, slipping a little on the hem of his hand-me-down uniform pants, when he heard a grunt and a body hit the lockers, and peered around the corner to see Greg, school jacket ripped, glasses askew, crash to the floor. He turned away, eyes low, as a few older, larger boys surrounded him. From the high school grades, if Gabe had to guess by the different stripes on their ties, and standing, they towered a head over him. With Greg down on the ground, they loomed._

_"Stupid fucking brat," one of them growled. "You think you're so special? Maybe if you did anything other than read and eat, you'd be in normal classes and we'd never have to see your fat face again."_

_"You think you're so smart, Piggory?" The other one kicked him in the gut a few times, and Gabe winced when he heard Greg retch. "Little pig bastard!"_

_The third hocked in air and spit on him, and Gabe heard it hit the tile floor and skin."You think you'll have a Dad if you're good enough? Stupid!"_

_"Probably ate your Dad."_

_"You'll never be good enough, you fat little-"_

_Gabe threw his books down, scattering them across the floor, and he heard the bullies swear and run. Once he heard the echoes of their footsteps fade, he turned around the corner and crouched down by Greg. Greg had what was left of his lunch still smeared on his face and lips, spit on his open cheek, and a wide-eyed gaze like a rabbit in a trap. "Hey, Greg?"_

_"It's fine," Greg muttered automatically, and rolled up to his feet, repeating, "It's fine, it's fine. It's fine." He shoved his glasses back on straight and waddled off in a hurry, arms folded tight over his chest and trying in vain to set his clothes right. Gabe watched him go, and quietly went to find a teacher..._

* * *

"... I told the previous Father Steele, who promised me he'd talk to the sisters. I told my teacher, who said, 'It's a big school, but I'll let the guidance counselors know.' I even told the Cho Sister who came to visit, and she thanked me, told me they were aware, and they were doing what they could. Bullshit, frankly. I heard them talk about his Dad, so one of them must have been a Cho foster child who knew how he came to be there. They were just hitting him where it would hurt just to watch him bruise. Payback for their own bruises, I suppose." Gage whimpered, chewing the end of his own sleeve, and Jo squeezed the back of his neck. Steele's eyes slipped shut as he recalled, "Greg was smart. Is smart. A genius. He was taking high school classes in computer programming while I was struggling through starter algebra. He showed the other students up, and when you stand out, you get knocked down. He got knocked down a lot, but refused to talk to anyone about it. Possibly because he was so used to being alone, he thought it would be pointless to depend on anybody else." His dull gaze settled on Jo again. "It was a month after I saw that particular beat-down I noticed Greg losing weight. This part of the story, I was told second-hand..."

* * *

_"Greg, you didn't eat at all?" Katherine Cho, chestnut-brown hair in a long braid over her shoulder and Greg's age down to the birthday, frowned as she picked up his plate. The Cho foster family, the sixteen children and the nine nuns who cared for them, ate in the same room at a long table, dark mahogany decorated with doilies, dark, womb-pink walls hung with photographs of every child who'd ever passed through the Sisters' House. Today was Kathy's day to clean up- she volunteered most nights, happy to stay in the Sisters' good graces- and she'd been abandoned to it by the rest of the children but for Greg, last to rise. Greg hitched his over-large pants up by the belt loop and avoided Kathy's gaze._

_"I wasn't hungry."_

_"There are children starving in other countries, you know." She wagged a chiding finger._

_"I'd take it to them if I had a plane ticket." His ears scorched, but she furrowed her brow._

_"You should at least eat a little. Even if you're not hungry now, you will be in a little while." Greg ignored her and took a book from his back pocket, and Kathy shouted after him, "I'll put it away for you for later!"_

_She found the contents of the plate in the trash can when she went to throw the paper napkins out._

_Every meal they took at home, in that over-cozy room, Kathy started to observe Greg. He had his book open in one hand, and his fork or spoon in the other, and pushed food around the plate. He'd take a bite or two, but push the rest away. The next time she distributed the bagged lunches, she noticed one left in the basket, and when she caught up with Greg on the walk to school, he had a book open in his hand and his nose in it, his backpack hitched on tight, and no lunch bag._

_Kathy was different from Greg, and she knew. Being raised in the same home did nothing for their personalities. She'd been there for a few months the day Greg was deposited on their doorstep, still remembered how hollow his eyes had looked when the sisters led him in. They'd rarely interacted since. In a house of anywhere between twelve to twenty children, they were rushed around in different directions. Different volunteer work, different classes in school, and different groups of friends in the home. (She had one. He did not.) She knew him only by his name, his chubby cheeks and green eyes the same shade as hers, and the few passing glances between one another during chores around the house. He never seemed impressed, but though he'd never admit it, she was different._

_He sometimes saw her looking through the books in the house's library, most of which he'd read. He would have told her which ones were good if she'd asked, but she didn't. He always knew her by her pink skirts and bright sweaters, and flouting the school uniform rules with rainbow-colored socks under the navy pleated skirt. She was colorful and bubbly and never directly mean to him. But she surely had better things to do. She had friends. She had reasons to smile. Like every other child in the house, he'd drawn his conclusions about her and filed her away, and tried not to think too much about her._

_Greg had missed something. She was curious. She was observant. And now, she was watching Greg._

_Greg was shedding pounds by the week, it seemed, pulling his belt tighter, his shirt hanging off of him and pleated where he tucked it in. Kathy heard one of the sisters telling him, "Goodness, Gregory, we'll need to get you smaller sizes! Looks like you've finally grown into your weight!"_

_She heard girls, because she talked with lots of the girls, whispering about the weight he'd lost, wondering how he'd done it. She had at least an inkling, because during free periods, he would change into his gym uniform and run laps endlessly, mindlessly. She also was sure she hadn't seem him eat a full meal in weeks. But nobody said anything! He had turned from a chubby boy to a skeleton, and all anybody was saying was that he was lucky to lose weight!_

_It burned her. She wanted so badly to talk to Greg about how the older boys pushed him around, but he didn't like to talk to anybody, so she didn't try. She wanted to ask why he was starving himself, but the same problem remained._

_So Kathy, popular, well-liked, and favored, did the only thing she could._

_"Why, Katherine, why aren't you eating?" The head sister frowned as Kathy, seated directly on the sister's left, folded her hands in front of her full plate._

_"I'm jealous." She glanced over to Greg, six seats down. "Greg has lost a lot of weight, and I think I'm fat too. See?" She patted the little bit of fat gathering where her breasts had started to grow. "I thought if I ate like he did, I could lose weight too."_

_Greg, hollow-cheeked and wide-eyed, beanpole thin after months avoiding meals, turned crimson and whipped around to face her. "You're not fat, Katherine!"_

_"Neither are you!" She shot back. "But you still eat nothing! So I'll eat nothing too."_

_"Both of you, enough!" The head nun rose to her feet. "Neither of you will leave the table until your plates are empty!"_

_And so, Katherine and Gregory sat in their places, six seats apart, when the rest of the family had finished and gone off to do their homework. Greg stared at the floor, and Kathy watched him. After an hour of lonely silence, he lifted his fork. She mirrored him, as he hovered, mid-motion, contemplating taking a bite. Then, he put his fork down, and she did the same. She picked her plate and fork up and moved a seat closer._

_"Gregory, it's because the older boys called you fat, isn't it?" He shuddered, face forward._

_"Just eat so we can leave. I have homework."_

_"I'm sorry they did that to you. That wasn't fair."_

_"Just shut up," he squeaked, and folded his arms tight._

_"Greg-"_

_"No!" He flipped his plate over, scattering potatoes and green beans across the doilies, meat splattering wetly on the wall, and stormed off. She watched him leave, bit her lip, but ate the bits of her dinner that still looked appetizing and cleaned the floor, table, and wall by herself._

_The next night, Katherine pulled the same stunt, five seats away from Greg this time, and when the room emptied, leaving the two of them alone with full plates and empty stomachs, she moved a seat closer. "If the Sisters realize what you're doing, they'll send you away."_

_"It's not like they care about me. Nobody cares about me." Greg wrung his hands in his lap, avoiding Kathy's kind eyes, the same soft green as his own._

_"They do, Greg. There's just so many of us, it's hard for them to see little things like this. We have to care about each other. I care about you." She picked up her fork, but he didn't match her, so she put it down. "I wish I'd said something sooner. I'm sorry I haven't helped you."_

_"It's not your job. It's nobody's job!"_

_"Greg, I..." Kathy bit her lip. "My mother left me here, too." She moved a seat closer, dragged her plate with her, didn't lift her head or eyes even as she settled in. "The police brought me here, after she was arrested, and though I was told I would see her again, she never came back for me. But you know, my mom... she had a lot of problems. She probably made the right decision in not trying to get me back. Your dad did, too. Now, we can go to a good school, and we have a family now."_

_"My Dad got rid of me because I was an awful child," Greg whispered. "Everyone here hates me. None of it matters. I don't have a family."_

_"I'll be your family." She looked him straight on, and he clenched his jaw and got up to his feet._

_"I don't want it!" He stormed off, leaving his full plate behind. She watched him leave, took a few bites of her cold dinner, and packed his plate away._

_They sat together for a week, her talking to him quietly, him avoiding her gaze, her mirroring his motions. If he contemplated taking a bite, she did the very same. After a week of scant dinners, though, he noticed her hands shaking._

_"Do you still eat breakfast and lunch?" He muttered, shoulders slumping with what could have been guilt. She shook her head._

_"I told you. I want to be skinny too. So I'll eat just like you do."_

_"You don't need to lose weight." He let his eyes touch on her for the first time in days, the soft curve of her neck, her slender shoulders, and he was agonized when he spoke again. "You're already beautiful, and people like you."_

_"Greg..." She scooted to the seat directly adjacent to his, hands folded on her vibrant pink skirt. "People like me because I try very hard to be nice to them. I think, maybe if you would talk to people instead of shutting everyone out, it wouldn't matter what you looked like." He hunched over further, and she put a hand on his back. "I don't like that you're this skinny, anyway. You look like bones." She giggled a little, and nudged his side. "I like boys with muscle. I'll like you better if you're not all bones." He shivered, and she patted his back. "Greg, please eat. I don't want you to go away. I'd like to get to know you better."_

_"If I eat, you'll eat."_

_"That's right."_

_He picked up his fork, and she did the same. He scooped up a bite of his carrots, she did too. He bit down, chewed, and swallowed, and watched as she swallowed and dabbed her lips with her napkin. He couldn't stop staring, and she lifted her head and smiled at him._

_Greg tried to eat everything in front of him, but it made his stomach hurt about halfway through. The same night, he confessed to the Head Sister that he hadn't been eating, and was taken to the hospital. Kathy went with him, and sat by his side through the first few doctor's appointments. The Sisters apologized for not acting sooner, and promised him therapy and outpatient care. They offered to send him to inpatient care, but he begged them out of it:_

_"Please let me stay here, with Kath. She's my friend. She... she made me feel better. She... made me feel..."_

* * *

 

"Greg didn't volunteer for a while after he started getting care, but when he did come back, it was with Kathy." Steele stubbed out his cigarette, his third since he'd begun telling the story. "She coaxed him out of his shell, and made him human." He promptly snapped up a fresh cigarette and lit up, exhaling a thin cloud into the air in a stream. "I don't know how things went for a few years after that." He gestured in the air, eyes wandering away. "I left the mission for a few years when I was thirteen, came back when I was sixteen, and here they were, bonded like lovebirds. Gregory did remember me, but to me, he was still the same sourpuss. Gage, you knew them." He shifted his gaze to the boy.

"Kathy was a cool big sis!" Gage exhorted with a grin. Steele nodded.

"She was kind, warm, open, tender, everything Greg was not."

* * *

 

_"You are an idiot, aren't you?" Gregory looked over Gage's handwriting dispassionately. "You're supposed to trace the shapes to make the letters."_

_"Yeah, but my way is more fun!" Gage stuck his tongue out at Greg. Greg sighed and rubbed his forehead with thin fingers and crumpled the page of doodled-on letters._

_"You'll never get anywhere if you..."_

_"Greg." Kathy slipped up behind them and tapped Greg's shoulder, and smiled benignly down at both of them. "He's never been to school before, you have to start at square one." She slid down to sit on the other side of the bench from Gage. "The pictures here have meaning, you see? Each one makes a sound..."_

_"Ooh!" Gage leaned on her arm. "Sing the song again, Kath! I wanna hear!"_

_Gregory had grown tall, but remained thin, and Katherine had blossomed into a lovely young woman. Even Father Steele, while uninterested, could recognize that she was physically attractive. She was lovely in a thousand other ways, too, made more obvious as she settled down next to Gage and patiently reviewed his alphabet. Her smile was soft, her every word kind, and she displaced Greg as tutor as cleanly as if he hadn't been there in the first place. Greg disengaged, sitting back on the bench, but his eyes remained affixed to her. A soft smile came to light on his thin, wry cheeks, an expression Steele didn't see on Greg when Kathy wasn't there..._

* * *

"Greg wasn't so nice to me, but he could be nice if Kathy was watching," Gage commented, tearing his eyes away from Steele to Jo. "Like, if she was helping me, he could do it too. Sometimes, I could even tell he sort of liked me, 'cause Kathy would tell me I'd done good, and he'd pat my head a little. He was awesome with her!"

"They were almost conjoined," Steele spat, and his brow furrowed. "I learned that she attended most of his counseling sessions to keep him talking. She was outgoing where he was intensely shy, and prompted him to find words. I honestly wonder if they didn't deliberately fill the gaps they saw in one another, or provide what the other needed. Or if that wasn't just Greg appealing to her in any way he could." He snuffed his cigarette roughly, reached for his box to find it wasn't there, then folded his arms and tapped a toe. "She couldn't cook, so he learned. She relished the death of vermin, so he would tremor at the sight of cockroaches. Katherine wanted to be a schoolteacher, so he wanted to make computer programs that would make her a wonderful teacher. At least he didn't have to pretend to be an insular bookworm, because she came to love that." His shoulders slumped forward, his head hung. "I can't count the times I saw them sitting on a bench together, or under the tree in the courtyard behind the mission, sharing a novel.  _Wuthering Heights_ ,  _Jane Eyre_ , the classics. He'd give impromptu dissertations on symbolism and interpretation, she'd nod and smile and ask about her favorite parts and what they meant. I'd see them walking home in the evenings hand in hand, him carrying his chef's knives from cooking dinner here or from his school, her laughing about the children at the daycare she volunteered at sometimes. They made an excellent pair."

"A pair," Jo repeated.

Unexpectedly, Steele's expression was of disgust.  _"_ They weren't dating, but the love between them was obvious." He sneered, lip curling, brow furrowing in a furious V. "The only thing keeping them apart was that they were raised as siblings. I'm all but certain that the moment they graduated from that, they would have run to the chapel."

"Y'think they ever, y'know, hooked up?" Jo linked his pinky fingers together. Steele raised an eyebrow.

"All I know is that she loved him."

* * *

_"Oh, here you are, Father." Kathy curtsied a little, smiling like a ditzy princess as she peered into the alley between the mission building and the vacant house beside it. "That's a nasty habit, you know." Steele sniffed, and blew a smoke ring._

_"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask." She huffed, hackles raising, but he took another drag and tore his glare off of her. "Go back and rein in your brother. If Gage tempts him, I'll have to define a couple dozen more college-level insults for him when you leave."_

_"Does he still cool so much when I'm not there to stop him?" Kathy stepped out and smoothed the pleats of her skirt, then took in a deep breath of night air. Steele ignored her in favor of the blazing cherry on his smoke. "Maybe I should leave him alone more." She considered it. "Or, perhaps not. He was alone long enough."_

_"Hm." Steele let a weighty gaze pass over her. "I don't think I'll ever understand what you see in him."_

_"Can't you?" Kathy touched lithe fingers to soft pink lips, honestly confused. "He's so smart, and so passionate. I suppose that's why you can't see it." She blushed, fingers folding around one another near her waist. "When he becomes dedicated to something, he fully devotes himself. He burns his fires so high and so bright that he can only tend one. You might think him heartless, but it's not so. His heart is there, it's just intense. I should be honored that he chose me to care about."_

_Steele couldn't say he didn't understand. Someone willing to give everything he was for her, devoted like a worshiper, who wouldn't want that?_

* * *

 

"Their relationship was strange, but it was the best thing he had." Steele reached out and petted Gage's head slowly. The boy was drowsing, and Steele looked strangely grateful for that. "It was September, just before their eighteenth birthdays. I didn't see the attack, only the tail end, but the events of that night are as clear to me as rainwater..."

* * *

 

_"Hurry, Greg!" Kathy laughed, whirling on her heel, rain spinning off of her umbrella as they dodged between streetlights towards their bus stop. Greg chuckled, panting, gripping his knife roll in his left hand._

_"I can't run, Kath, it hurts."_

_"You'll get soaked to the bone! Come on!" She dashed ahead, turning the corner, and he_ _held his laughter and patted his aching chest, but picked up speed to catch up._

_"You know I can't run like this, Kath-" He stopped cold when he lifted his head again, because Kathy had run smack into two lanky, skinny men in dark clothes with tattoos on their arms. Katherine took a few tottering steps back._

_"I... I'm sorry. You shouldn't stand around in a by-way like that, you know, but if you'll excuse..." One of the men pulled out a knife, and before Greg could dive in to stop them, someone else, older, toothy, menacing, had grabbed him around the throat and placed a knife against his neck._

_"Just what we were looking for," one of them growled into his ear, and one of the two facing Katherine, with a wide, thin grin and a sneer like a weasel, smirked and clasped her lithe little hand in his._

_"You're going to be fun, aren't you?"_

* * *

"It might have been some sort of initiation ritual. You'd know about that better than me." Jo winced, because Steele could cut concrete with remarks like that. "They might just have been trying to scare the neighborhood. Either way, I can't speak to what Greg had to watch them do to her." Steele pinched his brow, as Gage chewed his finger and cringed where he sat. Jo, to his credit, sat dumbstruck, no longer itching for a cigarette but instead for someone to blow his brains out so he wouldn't have to hear any more. "But Greg was later able to say that she kicked and screamed the whole time, while he stood helpless, hostage. He said he could hear people behind him, walking away, running away, but nobody came to their aid. And... Greg..."

* * *

_"She's your girlfriend, isn't she?" Hector Maoh hissed into Greg's ear, whiskey breath sliding evil tendrils of stench into his nose. The knife slid close against his Adam's apple. Greg couldn't feel the thin stream of blood from the cut, nor see the knife, couldn't hear Maoh, only saw the tableau of defilement and sin before him. "You should consider yourself lucky. I'd only do the dirty work for my own son."_

_"Sh-she..." Greg came up short, and his voice failed when he tried to raise it: "Help, someone, help-" Maoh punched him in the side and dropped him. Somewhere above him, Kathy cried out:_

_"No, Greg- please!"_

_In that moment, Greg's focus twisted through all of their belongings scattered on the concrete and landed on his knife roll. He reached a shaking hand for it, and when Kathy screamed again, grabbed and unbuckled it in a flash. His chef's knife was in his hand, and then in the throat of the nearest man. Blood spurted and spattered his face and glasses, but Greg no longer needed to see. He snatched the switchblade from the dying man's hand and whirled on Hector Maoh, He would have said something, but all he had left was a wild man's scream, as he howled and swooped down, crying vengeance for all to hear._

_Hector Maoh managed one last command: "Kill the stupid fuck!" before Gregory sliced his throat wide open, then carved deep lines into his chest. More blood, red as sunset, bubbled from every slice and was swallowed by the rain made crimson pooling on his knees, and Greg hardly heard the rush of footsteps headed his way when he turned again and saw Charon Ysidro..._

_... and Kathy..._

_... oh, Kathy..._

_Charon Ysidro dropped her to the ground, his knife still stuck in her belly, eyes wide and glassy, and still wearing the same unshaken smirk as he tucked himself back into his pants. He yanked his knife out and faced Harley with a gleam in his sneering eyes, as Kathy breathed her last:_

_"Greg..."_

_Then, there were centipedes, everywhere, monsters in black clothes and tattoos descending from the walls and backstreets, all running for Greg, but Greg was blind, deaf, gone from everything but red because Kathy had been every other color he'd ever cared about._

_He bellowed, and launched into the fray._

* * *

"The brawl ended up outside of K-One." Gage was shivering and hugging Steele's leg, and Steele stroked his hair in smooth strokes. Jo hunched over in his chair, heart overflowing with grief that ached in his lungs. "He didn't even recognize me, I just held him off until the police caught up with him. Fourteen men died that night. One woman. The police made a mad rush searching for Charon Ysidro in the city- horrific crime like that got lots of people talking- and busted up about six cells of Cents they'd been gathering dirt on for a while. Even so, Ysidro was in the wind, and Greg was the only one arrested for the events that took place that night."

"Greg was inconsolable. He was only able to accomplish human speech after a heavy dose of sedatives and anti-psychotics. All he was able to say, even then, was 'Kathy.' The truth of the matter came out quickly." Steele stubbed out his cigarette, his fingers fully tangled in Gage's unruly mane, the boy himself huddled up and shuddering. "Charon Ysidro left his genetic fingerprint in Katherine, his regular fingerprints over the rest of her, her clothes, her skin, didn't even bother to hide himself. We found eyewitnesses who could testify that Greg was attacked, and speculate as to Greg's state of mind when he fought back. I was called as a witness. I'd known him, so I could tell them that he was a gentle and harmless person, standoffish and not completely stable, but never malicious. For him to have been driven to that..." He shook his head, and Jo hardly realized he was doing the same. "Unthinkable." He sighed, and Jo huffed hot, angry air. Before tonight, he would have never thought Harley capable of anything like that.

Steele somberly continued, "State doctors and defense doctors examined him a dozen times, Greg's therapist testified on his previous mental state, and all came to the same conclusion. The trauma of seeing  _that_  done to the one person to whom he'd bonded broke a fragile man to pieces. I don't think the prosecutors even wanted to go after him. They were willing to plead him out on temporary insanity, on the condition that they could prove he could be recovered. Greg's therapist testified that he could, with work. Greg was off to the asylum, to be released upon being deemed healthy and stable enough to live outside with the caveat of five years' probation to ensure he would not be a threat to the general public."

"We couldn't visit," Gage mumbled, all of a sudden. "Dad went and saw him once, but that was it. Then, just a few months ago, he comes back and introduces himself..."

* * *

_"Good afternoon." Gage looked up from the bench and the birds gathering around him to see familiar long, lanky legs, shaggy brown hair, green eyes, and dusty, half-cracked glasses. The birds flew away as Gage eyed him, up and down. He had a thin suitcase in his hand, and a thin, wrought smile in place. "Is the proprietor of your mission in?"_

_"Uh, no, but the Father is." Gage dropped his empty bread bag and jumped to his feet, scaring off the rest of the birds. He wanted to be excited and shout for joy and hug him, because he was back and it had been years! But Greg wouldn't like that, would he? And meanwhile... "Greg, why're you talkin' funny?"_

_"Greg?" His eyebrows knit up in puzzlement. "I'm afraid I don't know a Greg." His smile stuck eerily in place. "I don't think I've ever known a Greg." He held a thin hand out, as pale as Gage had ever seen in Greg-or-not-Greg, but he cautiously shook it. "My name is Harley Cho. May I come in?"_

* * *

"Greg's name was leaked to the internet early in the trial." Steele resumed stroking Gage's hair. "His face was never shown because of his age, but his name was known. Because the incident was related to organized crime, he changed it, and changed the rest of his identity as well. The Cho sisters agreed to plant information about Harley Cho in their records, but I don't think he's gone to see them. He changed his name, his identity, and though he might tell you the same story, I don't know if we can say we got Gregory back at all."

"It was like rebooting a bad computer. 'Curing' him corrupted whatever data he had." Steele sniffed and crossed his legs, one over the other. "Even so, he's not blank, not your  _tabula rasa_. He's taken what he did in filling the spaces Katherine couldn't fill, and filled the hole she left completely. Harley is kind, welcoming, open, and everything Greg only ever was for Kathy."

"I dunno," Gage countered. "I don't think Greg ever wanted to be mean and stuff. I think he just didn't know how to be, so maybe when they fixed his head, he found a new way to be him."

Jo frowned, nodded his head as he processed it. Harley, pleasant and open-hearted, Greg, cold and icy. The man who'd slaughtered fourteen men in a blind rage. "So, what's he really like?"

"How should I know?" Steele sneered, as if irritated that he'd doubted him. "Take him for what he is, he's not going to change."

"It's hard to say." Gage folded his arms, his head cocking forward. "I mean, I think there might be lots of sides to him. When he gets sad, he starts shutting off, like Dad said Greg was. And then, tonight, when Dad said Harl pretended to kill him... I dunno, it's scary!" He threw his hands up, then dropped them down to his legs. "I guess the medicine helps him, but maybe there's more to it."

"Either way, Greg came out Harley, and that's who we've got to live with now. So, we don't talk about Greg all that much anymore." Steele folded his arms, as Jo slumped down a little further, gripping the edge of the chair between where his legs were spread. "I suppose Ysidro heard about his release from whatever hole he was living in, and got a photograph to spread around. And then there's you, who had to go and get nosy."

"Screw you, he's my best friend," Jo muttered back on instinct. "It's fucked up, but I'm better off knowing."

"If you think so."

"I guess... that scar, on his stomach." Jo gestured down to his navel and traced an arrowhead with his restrained fingers. "He got that in the fight."

"How the fuck should I know? I wasn't there. You've got everything you're getting out of me." Steele put out the last cigarette in his box and uncrossed his legs. "Jo, have you asked Harley anything about this?"

"No." No point in hiding it, and Jo hunched his shoulders. "I figured... we're still getting to know each other, he doesn't wanna just spill everything, and 'sides, I didn't want to weird him out. If I freaked him out, I thought he'd just... be gone." He shrugged sadly, eyebrows knit up. "I mean, I said I'd take care of him. How can I do that if I've pushed him out?"

"I dunno, I think you're kinda past that," Gage pointed out. "Maybe you should just ask him now." He clambered up to a stand. "I think I'm sleepy now."

"Of course you are, you've been awake for nineteen hours," Steele grumbled. "It's three in the goddamned morning. Go to bed." Gage yawned, clearly not arguing, and shuffled off to a small side door. Jo could see a spiral staircase going up inside, and Gage waved as he climbed up.

"Night, Jojo."

"Night, kid." Jo pushed himself out of his chair, but Steele snapped a hand out and grabbed his belt loop.

"You. You have something of mine."

"I do? Oh, shit, yeah." He dug into his jeans pocket and took out the two medicine bottles. "Sorry about that, man, but in my defense, I thought you were-"

"'I'll be sure Gage gets these.' You've explained yourself already." Steele closed his hand over Jo's to take the bottles back. "Thank you." Jo's eyebrows damn near flew off his forehead at the sincerity in that and in Steele's midnight-dark eyes, before it flashed away to his usual cold neutral. "Now, get out of my sight and go to sleep."

Steele ushered him out and shut the door behind him, and Jo shuffled back to the bunks. Harley was still in the top bunk, so Jo crashed down onto the lower bunk and lay flat, staring at the slats above him. His eyes very nearly fell shut, until he heard a small voice from above: "You know, I had a plan."

Jo didn't answer, but he heard Harley turn over, and he could tell he was addressing him. "Yeah?" Jo nudged the bottom of the bunk over him with his toe. "What was that?"

"I had assumed that Ysidro no longer intended on winning, just hurting me. I had hoped I could give him what he wanted." The stiff, thin mattress creaked as Harley shifted his weight, and continued in a soft deadpan. "I had assumed that he would take me to Gage, at which point, I would ensure Gage was safely in your care and deal with Charon Ysidro myself. I had presumed you would call the police when the dust had settled, and they would discover Father Steele, alive and angry in his bonds." Jo winced his eyes shut, and tried not to imagine Harley's face. He'd never heard him sound so deeply sorrowful and regretful. "I told him, 'Make it look good,' and pressed down on his neck. Harder on the sides, so it would look genuine, but no pressure at the join of my hand and thumb, so as not to crush his windpipe. He understood, and played dead so I had an excuse to walk away. I'm so terribly thankful he's got a high pain tolerance. I don't think he knew at all what I had in mind." Harley took a shaky breath. "I had not planned on walking away."

Jo came up short, like he'd been punched in the lung. "Harley-"

"But then, there you were. It's no wonder you play poker, because as much as I try, I simply can't predict you sometimes." Jo saw him dangle a hand off the edge of his bunk. "In your kindness, you cut him loose. He's never done or said a kind word to you, but you just couldn't leave him there, and he had the faculties to come after us and save my skin again. You saved us."

"It's what any decent guy would've done."

"And yet, I didn't." The silence that followed that ached, and Jo unconsciously pulled his knees in. "You know who and what I am now, Joel. You must think me a monster."

"I told you, man-"

"It's alright if you do. I already think the same."

What was the word Harley used for that? Jo winced. Resignation. "C'mon, Harl. We all do fucked up shit." He reached up and swatted Harley's hand where it dangled, and he withdrew it in a snap. "Dude, I sorta helped blow up part of a hotel, I snatched purses and mugged people. I was kind of a prick, but you're okay with it. I'm past it." He paused. "You're okay with it, yeah?"

Harley didn't reply, the dark silence of the room broken only by the snores of the drifters around him. After a few seconds that dragged like a parachute in sand, Harley answered him with a new query: "Have you ever killed anyone, Joel?"

Had he hoped to skeeve him out? Please. "No, and neither have you."

"Joel-"

"Shut up.  _Gregory Cho_  went nuts and offed a bunch of rapists and gangbangers.  _Harley Cho_  is the nicest guy in the goddamn universe. Tom Le Raza, or whatever. You're clean. Got it?"

"Got it." Harley's voice quavered, and Jo heard him sniffle. "J-Joel, did I hear Gage say that he left a space for me to sign on your cast?"

"Yup."

"I'd very much like to sign it in the morning."

"No shit, dude." Jo chuckled and lightly kicked the underside of the bunk again. "You can. Betcha Gage's got markers in any color you like."

"That'll be wonderful." He was definitely crying now, and Jo felt a weird sort of guilt, like he'd wounded him by trying to reassure him. He had to be sure of something, make sure Harley knew something.

"Hey." Jo tapped the side of the bunk over his head. "How 'bout, when we go home, I get you a bookshelf? And a dresser, or a trunk, or something, so you got a place to put all your stuff instead of living out of your suitcase. I mean, you're gonna stay, aren'cha? At least a little longer." Harley sniffled again, and Jo smiled a little.

Harley got it. And he was pretty sure he got Harley now. He knew the guy, after all. He could just about see Harley, crying tears of joy in the top bunk.

And as Jo heard his breathing even out, he resolved himself: Maybe just one last check.

Harley fell asleep at some time, or he must have, because he woke up the next morning and, not knowing where else to begin, went to wash his face in the communal bathroom. He happened to notice his face looked dark and blurry in the mirror. He wondered how he'd gotten so filthy overnight, then put his glasses on. It all became clear: someone had scribbled all over his face, arms, and legs, in two sets of equally bad handwriting:

"Feel better!"

"We love you!"

"You're awesome!"

Someone had drawn the Batman symbol on the back of his hand. He laughed to himself as he turned his arms over, looking for more little messages, until he heard two voices behind him.

"... Dad says you gotta shower before breakfast! Come on! He's getting donuts for everyone and he won't leave until..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'- paws off, brat! I only let ladies manhandle me!" Jo yawned broadly, shamelessly as he stumbled into the showers. "Man, why not five more minutes? I'm so goddamn ti- yo, Harl!" He shoved Gage off, but halted and smirked as he saw Harley examining himself in the mirror. "Uh, lookin' kinda colorful there." Gage pushed into the bathroom, about to shove Jo back, then tittered softly and froze up when he saw Harley. Harley didn't reply, but a strange, stiff smile took its place on his face. Jo chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. "Y'know, it reminds me of something the kid said. Ain't that right, Gage?" He nudged Gage, who choked back another giggle. "You get hurt, you write nice things where it's healing so the positive thoughts'll sink in, and make it all better."

"Is that so?" Harley turned to Jo with his put-on, bright smile that hinted of menace. "Tell me, how well do the thoughts sink in if they're written in permanent marker?"

Jo and Gage both smiled back, staying very, very quiet, until Gage inched back to the door, then bolted away down the hall. Jo laughed nervously as Harley advanced on him.

"Well, hey, wonder who did that, right?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Jo smiled innocently so he wouldn't wail in terror as Harley closed in, still wearing that cold, masking smile. "I believe I might have a good idea." He rested a hand on Jo's shoulder. "But I think I might just forget to tell Father Steele if you'll do me a favor or two."

"R-really?" Jo grinned nervously, bare toes curling on the tile like they could keep him from getting swept up in the coming whatever-horrible-thing Harley had planned. "An' what would that be?"

"This and that." Harley released him, and he stumbled back. Harley turned for the showers. "For now, fetch me some rubbing alcohol. I won't be able to be seen like this, and it's something of a walk home."

Jo was about to go, but that word caught him. "Home?"

"Yes." Harley's smile softened when he glanced over his shoulder, his weak right eye straining to focus on Jo but clearly there. "Our home."

That was all Jo needed to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the end of the first part of the story. Lucky for us, there's a second part to come! I'll try to have more soon. Let me know what you thought!


	12. Look Out Upon the Myriad Harbour!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gage spends a joyful summer taking in all the best parts of Chance Harbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try and put this up once chapter 13 was ready for beta, but you know what, 6/26 was a good day. A really good day. I wanted to celebrate, and besides, this chapter took me long enough. This is something of a connector chapter between the first and second acts, with some downtime for our favorite guys. And of course, plenty of time with my beloved Gage. Just... keep your eyes open.
> 
> This chapter turned into a monster on me, but I couldn't really break it up. So strap in and get some popcorn, everyone!

**12: Look Out Upon the Myriad Harbour!**

_"I took a train, I took a plane- ahh-"_  Jo lifted the flour container on the counter to wipe under it, and sang on,  _"Who cares, you always end up in the ci-ty!"_  He eyed Haku on his cage over on the counter. Haku didn't seem to panic as much when Harley was out anymore, and Jo was kind of okay with it. Less feathers to clean up. He scrubbed the counter near him anyway, picking up scattered shells and bits of sand scraped off the perches.  _"Said to John, you think the girls here ever wonder how they got so pret-ty?"_  He winked at the bird.  _"Yeah, well I do!"_

In the three weeks since Charon Ysidro's arrest, Jo had been cleared to go back to work, but with his wrist still in a cast- albeit a lighter one, which Gage had scribbled all over the day he'd gotten it- he was mostly stuck answering the phone and filing papers. As Harley had said though, if he was well enough to work, he was well enough to help around the house. "Besides, for a few hours scrubbing my face and arms so I could go out in public, you can do a little scrubbing on the floors and counters once a week." He'd winked, much the same way Jo did, and Jo had laughed for a second and happily agreed. Besides, he was no good for helping carry grocery bags right now anyway.

So, Sunday afternoons, Harley went to the Safeway, and Jo cleaned up around the apartment. He could Swiffer the kitchen with one hand, and he had just enough grip in his right hand to lift things. It was nice that Harley didn't need an escort anymore, with Charon Ysidro safely behind bars. Harley hadn't attended the arraignment, but it made the news, so he was satisfied that the man was away for good. Jo was okay with it too, so Harley could go on out to his therapist or to get groceries without Jo, and Jo could chill out by himself for a little while. Today, he was getting his cleaning done first so he could kick his feet up later. Plus, if he was done in the kitchen before Harley got back, odds were even that Harley might take this as a sign that he should make something that took a little longer for dinner. Jo liked that kind of dinner best- there was something absolutely magical about slow-cooked pork or that red wine chicken or anything that Harley had to put a little more effort into. Just thinking about it put him in a good mood.

"Look out upon the myriad harbo-o-or," he crooned to Haku, and whistled the instrumental break. Haku cooed a bit, and Jo felt a little sting of satisfaction. "You'll get it, buddy." He kept whistling until he heard the key turning in the lock and had just enough time to change over from Harley's station to his CD before the door swung wide.

"I'm back! Would you mind giving me a hand?"

"You got it, bro!" Jo killed the radio completely and pivoted to face the door, and stopped cold when he saw someone else, a certain short someone with a mop of wild brown hair, already taking an armful of bags from Harley. "Hey, did you steal the kid to help you?"

"Hi, Jojo!" Gage grinned around the bags. "I saw Harl at the food store, and Dad said I could help him!"

"After that, I thought I would invite him for a visit." Harley suddenly put his hand to his mouth. "Oh, oh dear, should I have asked you?"

"Nah, man." Jo didn't hesitate. "It's your house too."

Jo kind of felt like he had to remind Harley of this. Not that Harley forgot where he lived, but sometimes, he still acted like a guest. Maybe it was just him trying to be... well, for a Harley word, unobtrusive, but Jo wanted the guy to, in Jo words, feel comfortable walking around in front of the window with no pants on, putting his feet on the coffee table, and scratching his nuts whenever he damn well felt like it. This was their bachelor pad, Jo wanted him to act like it.

He at least acted pretty normal on afternoons when Gage was around, putting away groceries and getting out lunch supplies, and Jo dived in to help. His good hand could still grip cans, bottles, and small things, and swing the paper products around to the pantry. He still couldn't wait to get the damned cast off. Especially when Harl put him to shame, shelving everything with impressive efficiency, and still making pleasant conversation. "Has school been alright, Gage?"

"Uh, mostly." Gage shrugged, and his shoulders fell a little. "Dad's gotta have a meeting with my IEP to see if I'm gonna advance."

"IEP?"

"Individualized Education Program." Harley answered as soon as Jo asked. "Because of Gage's learning struggles, he has a one-on-one planner who sees to it that he's getting everything he needs out of his education and learning at a pace that's healthy for him."

"Ohh." Jo scratched his head. He didn't remember elementary school much, but he remembered seeing a few kids, the ones who couldn't sit still or speak well or basically conform to the pecking order who had personal assistants. "And... this guy gets to decide if you go to the next grade?"

"Uh-huh." Gage bit his lip, and hopped up into one of the stools. Jo pursed his lips, and stopped putting things away and faced Gage, hands on his hips.

"Well, how's your grades?"

"Uh... they're not bad. C's, mostly." He hung his head. "I'm not getting any F's, anyway."

"Jeez," Jo chuckled. "Doin' better than me, then. When I was in school, that was the only letter I knew for sure." Gage smiled, though still slouching, and Jo mussed his hair. "Chin up, kid, if the teacher gives your Dad crap, he'll beat the snot out of him with the newspaper and you'll be all set to go." Harley laughed aloud.

"I don't think that'll be necessary. Gage has only ever had to repeat one grade, and that was when he first came to live with Father Steele." Gage cringed, and Jo used his hold on his hair to lift his face.

"Was that hard for you, kiddo?" Harley stopped, as Jo bent his knees a little to look into Gage's face. Gage nodded.

"Everyone said I was stupid." Harley's face fell, but Jo gave his hair another ruffle.

"Kid, I tease, but you ain't stupid. You, right now, you got more book learnin' than I ever will. You'll probably be able to go to college, if you wanna go to college." Jo backed up to put the last few canisters of dried herbs away, and Gage smeared his face. "Your Dad ain't gonna need his newspaper. Your teacher says you ain't good enough, I'll set her straight my damn self."

Gage smiled a little, and fidgeted, hands on his lap. "Thanks, Jojo." Jo and Harley traded looks, as they both now understood why Gage had been sent with Harley.

Ever since Charon Ysidro's arrest, Harley would go straight home with Jo, and Gage would come to them. Some nights, Father Steele would join them, and sit and smoke out the window with Jo (and help the 'poor gimp,' as Jo would self-depreciatively bemoan, light up) while Harley helped Gage with his homework. If Father Steele didn't come, then Jo would let the kid hang around and watch a few episodes of whatever was on for cartoons, and Harley would sit back with his book as the two argued over the action. Then, Harley and Jo would walk him home. There was nothing quite like the big smile Gage gave them as he shut the mission doors. It seemed like his big personality was only getting bigger and brighter, and Jo and Harley both figured out that Father Steele was just fine with that.

If that meant sending him to be with them to cheer him up, so be it.

"When's the meeting?" Jo asked, as Harley plated their sandwiches. Jo wasn't even sure where Harley got the seeded hoagie rolls, but they were nice and soft in the middle but crunchy on the outside and absolutely perfect.

"It's this Wednesday, during one of the three half days we got," Gage answered around a mouthful of half-melted mozzarella and roast beef, even at a sharp look from Harley that made him swallow a little faster. "That way, it's done before school lets out on Friday."

"You can text me if you're worried. You said it was a half-day?" Jo passed him a napkin, because Harley was giving him that same look. "What're you gonna do? Just hang out at the mission?" Gage nodded, and Jo glanced over to Harley, who cleared his throat.

"Why don't I have you spend some time at my office?" Harley chuckled softly and laced his fingers over his salad bowl. "Zack won't mind if I have a visitor, since I never say a word about him 'borrowing' Blu-ray players we're supposed to be repairing." Gage snickered, licking his lips and snorting, and Jo elbowed him.

"Eat like a kid, not a pig."

"M'not a pig, Daddy-long-arms!" Gage jabbed him back, and the two got into a prod war over the table, Jo grinning, Gage giggling, and Harley sitting back, content and waiting for the right time to intervene.

Haku was the one who chose to speak up, trilling melodically, and Harley jumped. "Oh!" He spun up from his seat and crouched close to the cage, just at Haku's eye level, as he whistled out a familiar progression of a very familiar instrumental break. "Why, wherever did you learn that?"

Jo smiled to himself, finally secure in the knowledge that he knew something Harley didn't. Just made him feel like singing again. This happy little picture of life at home was like something out of a movie again, and this one needed a soundtrack.

For the first time in a long time, Jo was feeling like everything was alright. How could anyone be miserable when things were finally working for him?

* * *

Father Steele hated parent-teacher meetings. For one, he was sure as hell nobody's  _parent_. He could be certain of that. It took a lot of doing every year to get people to stop calling him "Mr. Steele" or, god forbid, "Mr. Summers." Nope, Father Steele or get out of his face. He didn't go to seminary for nothing. One of the teachers had asked, once, "You're his legal guardian, you gave him his name. Why Summers and not Steele?"

"Why indeed," had been his answer at the time. There had been enough Steele at K-One over the past few decades. Didn't need any more.

Despite the fact that he and Gage looked nothing alike, it still often took some convincing that he was neither his father nor his brother. Morons. Still, today, Gage needed a parent, and he was the best Gage had. Didn't mean he didn't intend on being as much of a jackass as possible for being inconvenienced in having to deal with them. Was he bring a prick? Yes. Did he care? No. They couldn't have these stupid meetings at any better time for him? Sure, he wanted to know how Gage was doing, but if it meant leaving his work in the middle of the day to talk to stuck-up know-it-all shrink teachers, that could eat lead. So, for this meeting, he was lingering in the washroom longer than strictly necessary, never expecting what- or who- would come next.

"Oh." Steele glanced up from the screen of his phone at the echo of a familiar voice, as Ken Maoh pushed through the swinging doors into the blue-tiled boys' room. "Er, Gabe. It's... been a while." Ken smiled with nervous relief, then passed him to a sink and turned the water on. Grease and dust ran off his hands as he rinsed them, and Steele could see his palms were raw.

"What happened?"

"Fell off my bike on the ride over." Ken's eyes twitched as he lifted his hands to look at them. "The chain locked up, and I had to fix it so I could make it. Just lucky I didn't end up like Jo, with the arm." Ken tapped his forearm, then grabbed a few of the cheap brown paper towels and smeared his hands off. "So, it's been a while since I saw you. How've you been?"

"Unchanged." Steele locked his phone and put it in his pocket. "How is Lily? Think she'll make it to high school this year?" Ken nodded.

"She does work pretty hard, despite outward appearances, and I don't let her slack off. Even pulled off a B in French." Ken lowered his head and smiled under the fall of his bangs, a little sheepish. "She wants to do good."

"Mm." Steele nodded, and Ken cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"So, ah, how's Gage?"

"He's made friends with Jo, and an old acquaintance of mine who's become Jo's roommate."

"Oh!" Ken's eyebrows rose, and he cracked a smile. "Jo got a roommate? He hadn't told me. That's good." Steele raised an eyebrow, clearly entreating more, and Ken cleared his throat a little. "Just, I've been around enough ex-cons to know that they do better when they have a partner or something, someone stable. Especially someone they didn't know before they went in."

"Well." Steele shifted his spine against the wall. "I wouldn't call his roommate 'stable.' Not in the least."

"Eh, then that can go one of two ways." Ken's brow furrowed, and he rubbed his chin. "They'll either compensate for each other, or they'll clash into a giant mess."

Steele grunted. "Let's hope for the former. Gage has taken a shine to both of them. I'd rather not have to take him to the big house or the sanitarium to see them." Steele reached for the cigarettes in his front pocket, then grunted and clenched his hand to keep himself from lighting up. Ken set his hands on his hips.

"Jeez, for a priest, you got it rough with temptation." He chuckled weakly even as Steele shot him a glare that could turn his knees to Jell-O. He cleared his throat and avoided his gaze, innocently continuing, "So, uh, Jo okay for deliveries still? He's not goofing off, is he?"

"Gage is approximately half of the reason I request him." Steele set his hands at his sides and gripped the sink next to him. "Minimal goofing off, however."

A slight crease formed on Ken's forehead. "Really? You wanted him just because he got on with Gage?"

"Hmph. No. I trust Jo. Some of your other men..." Steele's eyes narrowed, but he released to neutral with a soft 'hmph.' "Gage was intrigued with him from the start, but they only recently started to talk. He's spending today with Jo's roommate, to boot." He cast a sideways glance to Ken. "He doesn't make friends easily. I'm sure that'll come up today, even." Steele sniffed and whipped a letter from his pocket. "I got this just last week, on how he annoyed some other kids in the lunch room and caused a scene when his comic book got shoved in the trash. I'm sure he was just trying to talk to them, but he doesn't take 'no' for an answer, and of course, he's the one being told off for it."

Ken groaned a little. "Yeah, that's one of the reasons Lily only takes science classes at the school. She's okay with girls, but she doesn't know how to deal with boys her age." His upper lip curled as his eye caught the mirror. "I know exactly whose fault that is, but there's nothing I can do about it." He sighed as he turned back towards Steele. "Poor Lily used to come home crying every day. You remember, right?"

"It was all you talked about until the school gave you the satellite option." Ken bristled and closed his hands to fists as Steele smoothed his hair back, then turned to check his face in the mirror. "Gage isn't inappropriate, he just tries to be friends with everyone, and gets overenthusiastic. The teachers come up with a whole other slew of problems- he doodles in his book during literature class, he reads comic books in pre-algebra- though, on the bright side, his math teacher can tell his literature teacher he's reading- he doesn't like the art elective because he rushes through his project."

"That's why Lily does so well in her satellite program. She goes at her own pace, and she has a teacher to check her progress once a week." Ken shrugged, as Steele turned on the water and splashed it in his hair. "Maybe you should-"

"No." Steele's tones were as clipped as the line of thought. "For whatever reason, Gage likes school. He likes being with people. And I'd hate to coop him up at the mission all day." Steele dried his hands, and slicked his hair one more time. It still stubbornly stuck up in places. "Right now, I'm sure he's dreading a summer stuck inside, doing Bible study with a local church group. He likes the people and the snacks, but he's read the Bible more times than I have by now."

"That's..." Ken's eyebrows rose as he trailed off. "Saying something." He cleared his throat. "Summer camp?"

Steele barked out a harsh laugh. "You know we almost had to use ketchup instead of tomato sauce last week? Our usual chef, Harley, had a conniption and paid for it out of his own pocket, insisting that nobody, Gage nor anyone else, should consume that much sodium in one sitting."

"Money's still that tight, huh?" Ken winced, but then he snapped his fingers. "Hey, I got an idea. We're just about to hit our summer slump, and-"

The door flew open, and an older woman with narrow glasses peered in. "Are either one of you C. Gabriel Summers?"

"Steele," he ground out in reply. "Father Steele, if you would. I was just on my way." He glanced to Ken, then grabbed a paper towel and a pen from his pocket. "Text me." He shoved it into Ken's hand and pivoted for the door. Ken stared, dumbfounded, for a moment.

"Since when do you text?" He laughed to himself as the door shut, then splashed his face with cold water and checked his cheeks in the mirror. He slapped his own face with both palms a few times. "Cool it, remember, he's a priest," he reminded himself in a murmur, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ, though..."

He whipped out his cell and began to tap out his plan, holding down any other thoughts he might have had, even with the absent thought still straying in that by doing right by him, he just might get on Steele's good side.

Besides, he'd met Gage. Sweet kid. Deserved better. And Jo? Jo was a good guy, and had been a hard worker for three years.

"I don't think the guy's actually taken a day of vacation since I hired him. I think I'll fix that."

* * *

Despite his busted arm, Jo was the only guy allowed to take packages to K-One. Luckily it was just paper products and one thick plastic pack postmarked from Canada, and though the boxes were big and unwieldy, they weren't heavy. Didn't mean he wouldn't give Steele shit for not helping him, though.

"Seriously, you're just lettin' gimpy ol' me do this by myself?" He grunted around a smirk, pretending to be a lot more put out than he was, as Steele leaned against the wall by the rear storage closet, squinting through his glasses at his cell phone screen and tapping furiously with both thumbs.

"It's not my job. I'm not getting paid for it."

"I saved your life, you dick!" He put the first box down and trudged back to the borrowed car (maroon with black stripes. Seriously, what was Ken's deal with these colors? How 90's could the guy be?).

"And I didn't kick your ass for letting Gage miss a dose of his medicine. I had to put it under his tongue after he went to bed. I think we're even."

"Pfft." Jo stuck his tongue out at him, and hoisted the box up onto his shoulder. "The fuck are you even doing?" He peeked over Steele's shoulder to the screen, and laughed as he moved past him. "Tetris? Jeez, you're either a soccer mom or an old man!"

Steele smirked, as the phone chimed. "Let's see a soccer mom or old man beat my high score." He shut his phone as Jo shoved the last box into place, pulled his reading glasses off, tucked them away, and dusted his hands. "Is Ken keeping you busy?"

"Meh." Jo shrugged. "It gets quiet this time of year. All the white-collar wage slaves go on vacation, makes less work for us. So, I'm supposed to help the gals in the office, but I kind of end up sitting around waiting for stuff to do." He smirked with sudden inspiration, and whipped his phone out. "Hey, how much didja pay for that Tetris app?"

"Like I'm going to help you screw off on Ken's time." Steele sniffed and folded his arms. "At least you're better off than Gage. He does Bible study all summer, and he gets bored, and when he gets bored, he gets whiny-"

"- at which point you beat him with the newspaper." Jo rolled his eyes as he dug the car keys out. "Yeah, poor kid, I hear ya. You could try, y'know, not beating him with the newspaper."

"Hah. I prefer realistic solutions. That wasn't what I was getting at." Steele huffed, and tried hard to sound contrite. "I just don't know how to best entertain him during these long, lazy days."

"Wish I could help, man." Jo shrugged and circled around to the driver's side door. "But hey, far be it for me to tell you not to spank your monkey. I'd be happy to deal with him when I'm not working."

"Oh really?" Steele arched an eyebrow, which gave Jo shivers.

"I don't think I like the way you said that. I'm just gonna drive off 'fore you start getting creepy." Jo hopped in and shut the door, and he faintly heard a  _thump_  on his rear windshield as Steele hocked his ever-present newspaper at him. He snickered all the way back to the office.

Aretha glanced up from her intent focus on the extraordinarily vital task of filing her fingernails when Jo entered, only to sniff at him and jerk her head towards the stairs. "Ken wanted to see you."

"Jeez, like I need more than one asshole on me in an hour." Jo grunted, and mimicked Harley's answer under his breath, "But goodness gracious me, wouldn't it be dreadful not to have one at all?" He snickered to himself. "Shit, I am spending too much time with that guy." He pushed the door to Ken's office open and sat down as Ken continued his phone call.

"... her grades otherwise are fine. I don't care what Mrs. Maoh told you, this is an opportunity Lily- Why the hell would  _Mrs._  Maoh call you, anyway? And why would you listen to a word she says? I told you, the court order- I will be taking this to the school board, let me assure you, and-" There was an audible click on the other end of the line, and Ken dropped the receiver and tented his fingers, breathing deeply and glaring at his fingernails. He took a few deep breaths, fidgeted with one of the little hoop earrings that glinted through his overgrown hair, then turned to shoot a hard gaze right at Jo. "Bunch of assholes."

"Sounds like it." Jo sprawled a little into the chair, resting his broken arm around the back and gripping the cushion between his legs with his free hand. "Need me to go beat someone up?"

"No, seems someone's been trying to tamper with my sister's records. Trying to knock her out of her advanced science classes, or demanding she be placed in regular school again." Ken slicked a bit of hair back from his face. "Nothing I can't handle. Just gotta take my paperwork and show them. Again." Ken settled down and laced his fingers. "So, what brings you in here?"

"Uh-"

"Wait." Ken snapped a finger against his own forehead. "I called you. Yeah, we need to talk about your vacation time."

"Vacation time?" Jo's eyes widened, and Ken took a folder from his desk.

"You get vacation time, Jo. I give everyone a week of sick time and two weeks of vacation time every year. You use your sick time sometimes, but your vacation time's just been accruing for the last three years." He opened it up to show Jo the chart of time he'd used and hadn't used. "Six weeks of vacation, plus two weeks of sick time you haven't touched."

"Well, I don't get sick much." Jo scratched his head. "And I don't go on vacation."

"Never? You've never wanted to just take your girlfriend and go down the shore for a few days?" Ken's brow furrowed. "Or just kick back at home for a day here and there?"

"Holy shit, I can do that?" Jo's face split into a beaming grin. "Y'mean, just plan a day where I don't come in, and then, I don't come in, and you'll still pay me? I don't gotta actually go nowhere?"

"I want you to ask in advance, sure. I'd say now's a good time, since it's slow, you could even just take all of it right now, but if you wanna do it some other time, just ask me." Ken closed the folder up. "But I want you to take vacation. You do good work for me on the clock, and I'd hate for you to get burned out and frustrated."

"That's..." Jo trailed off, and ran a hand through his hair. "Pretty nice, coming from you." Ken nodded, then smirked.

"Whaddya mean, comin' from me? I'm nice to you."

"Sure, when you're not sendin' me halfway round the city to serve divorce papers to pissed off trailer trash or off to the Padre's to-" Something caught in his throat. "Hey. Can I take some vacation time? Like, a bunch? Starting next week?"

"How about this?" Ken's smirk spread a little wider. "If I got something that Steele wants, I'll call you, since he likes you. Other than that, you call me and tell me when you want to come back in. You have eight weeks. Use 'em wisely." Ken kicked back and spun to his computer in his chair. "Oh, and the rest of the afternoon's yours, too." He waved a little, as if to shoo him off. "I'll still pay ya for today, it'll just be a little present from me to one of my best guys."

"Ken, you're the boss!" Jo howled with laughter as he swung up from his chair and dug his phone out. "Thanks, dude, you're the best!" He jogged down the stairs, already dialing his newest entry. "Yo, Padre, I got an idea about the monkey..." Ken listened as Jo launched into spilling out his plan, and snickered to himself.

"Hook, line, and sinker."

* * *

A few blocks away, Harley was spending the start of his summer lull with a "Modern Computers" magazine and his radio half-drowning out the dull roar of Zack playing some sort of cut-the-fruit game on somebody's iPad at max volume. Just the same as any business who depended on other businesses to bring them things to do, summer got quiet awfully quickly. Still, there was always something else to read. Or, hopefully, there would be. It was that, or wait for the phone to ring and hope he beat Zack to it.

He heard an exaggerated groan from down the stairs, and peered out, wondering if Zack had finally hit a wall in his attempts to amuse himself, or possibly actually harmed himself. "Er, Zack?"

"What?" Zack moaned up to him.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hell yeah, something's the matter! I'm bored off my tits!" There was a clatter, as Zack put the iPad down and spun around to look up the stairs at Harley. "You doin' anythin'?"

"Er..." Harley tucked the magazine curled in his hand behind his back. "I'm doing my best."

"Horse shit." Zack sneered, and set his hands on his hips. "Y'know, I got an idea. I bet we could split the work and just take time if it stays this slow."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, me and Dougie use'ta do it." Zack gestured back and forth between them. "Like, I'd come in Monday and Wednesday, and he'd be here Tuesday and Thursday, and we'd switch off Fridays. The boss lady never noticed it, we both still get paid, and as long as all the work got done, nobody's the wiser!"

"Hm." Harley lifted his hand to his mouth. "Something like a half-vacation."

"Yeah, we'd do it around Christmas and New Year's too." Zack grinned. "So, if you promise not to tell the HBIC, I promise not to tell the HBIC. Shake on it, man, let's have a good-old fashioned summer vacation!" He thrust his hand out, and Harley tiptoed a few steps down to meet him in the middle.

"I suppose a few days off would be fine." He shook Zack's hand, just as his phone rang. "Pardon me." He stepped back to answer. "Good afternoon, Joel, is something the matter?"

"Dude!" Jo's voice rang out, loud, clear, happy, eager, even over blocks and airwaves. "Dude, Ken pretty much told me to take the summer off. And he's gonna pay me for it! The whole summer!"

"How lucky for you." Harley smiled into the receiver, ignoring as Zack propped his shoulders on the wall and stuffed his finger into his mouth, then drew it out slowly with an audible pop.

"I know, right? But I can't just sit around watching Ellen and shit, so I got this plan. I call it Camp Jojo! M'gonna take the monkey and hang out with him so he doesn't have to do Bible shit all summer."

Harley's eyebrows quirked up. "Really? How delightful! I'm sure Gage will appreciate it-" His eyes shot to Zack, who's jaw had fallen open, and he mouthed, 'Two boyfriends?' Harley quickly turned away. "I suppose it wouldn't be a problem if I joined you?"

"Huh?"

"It's slow here, too, so I'll have some days off during the week."

Jo practically exploded on the other end of the line. "Yeah, man, yeah! That's awesome! You and me and Gage, we'll paint the town red! We can go to the Aquarium and the Zoo and the arcade and the park, and-"

"We can both help him with his summer homework." Harley beamed, and Zack could damn near hear Jo's excitement flag.

"Sure, that too." Zack stuffed his hand into his mouth to keep himself from laughing, and Harley giggled as Jo continued. "I'm gonna tell the kid tonight. He's gonna be thrilled!"

"I think so." The two traded farewells, and Harley hung up and turned back to Zack, still wearing his casual smile as Zack stopped making lewd gestures and folded his hands behind his back. "It seems I'll be babysitting this summer." His smile perked up to something oddly friendly to the point of being predatory. "Better than babysitting here, anyway." He pocketed his phone and shut the door on Zack's exaggeratedly dropped jaw.

* * *

"You mean I can spend the whole summer with Harl an' Jojo?!" Gage had thrown his arms around Father Steele on hearing it. "Ohboyohboy! This'sgonnabethebestsummerever-no-really! Like, better'n'th'summer where yougotpoisonoakandhadtobepaintedpink- 'cos of that calamine stuff- forthreeweeksbutyatookmeswimmin'every-single-day-'cos-"

"Gage." Steele shook him and held him out at arm's length. "Do yourself a favor and breathe between sentences."

Gage took a few breaths, his voice jumping so high it squeaked, then threw his arms around Father Steele again. "This is the best! Thank you, Dad!"

Steele rolled his eyes, but patted Gage's back. "You're welcome." Jo and Harley, watching with amusement in different degrees of sarcasm, traded glances and smiles (more of a grin on Jo's part), and Jo spoke up.

"You know,  _Dad_ , you're welcome along for the ride."

"Don't call me Dad. I'll wreck you like a Pinto." Steele brushed Gage off, and faced the two other adults with a stern look. "I'll come if I can, but I do have commitments." He glanced to Gage. "And since you're planning on taking him on excursions, I'll provide any spare money I might have towards entertainment."

"Oh, Daddy, you're just too good to us!" Jo beamed, only a little sarcastic about it, and Steele whipped the newspaper from his back pocket.

"Call me Daddy again, I  _dare_  you."

That was the auspicious beginning to the summer of Camp Jojo.

* * *

Steele walked Gage over on Monday morning, Gage with a backpack and dressed in his best polo, Steele guiding him with a hand on his back. "If he causes trouble, call me. I'll have my phone on me. If you're taking him out of the city, call me. I will hunt you down."

"You forgot to say 'or.'"

"No, I didn't." Steele gave Gage a push through the door. "Gage, call me if you need anything, or-" His eyes flashed to Jo, then back to Gage. "Anything."

"Tell ya what." Jo planted a hand on Gage's shoulder and dragged him in. "We'll call you around lunch time. And if we go out to the park or whatever, we'll walk past the mission. How's that sound?"

Steele edged back, but Jo caught an imperceptible nod. "Do that." With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, keeping his hands close to his body and away from the walls. Jo planted a hand on Gage's head.

"Alright, the fuzz is gone, let's have some fun!"

Jo started with exercise, at Harley's recommendation ("Tire him out early, or his energy level could drive you up a wall."), encouraging him with calisthenics and helping him with the free weights. He showed him a couple cool videos on Youtube, since Gage didn't have a computer of his own, and let Gage look up music videos for songs he'd heard on the radio. Gage finally found a techno mix and stepped back from the laptop to shove the coffee table against the bed and dance in the empty space.

"C'mon, Jojo!"

Jo, working around his arm, taught him to Dougie, the Running Man, and the Sprinkler, but finally shoved the kid off when Gage asked about the Sandwich. "Always thinkin' with your stomach, right?" He dialed up Steele on his cell as Gage continued to dance. Steele picked up, and immediately asked:

"Is something wrong?" Same flat tone, no hint of concern, but Jo could tell he was listening.

"Told ya I'd check in." Jo pinned the phone to his ear and kicked the refrigerator open.

"What's that racket?"

"Gage wanted to dance." Jo glanced back, to see Gage dancing the funky chicken to a song that probably wasn't meant for the funky chicken, but who was he to stop progress? "He's tearin' it up. I might teach him a few routines I knew from school dances as a kid-"

"You're making him lunch, right?"

Jo snorted and rolled his eyes. "If I didn't feed him, he'd eat me."

"What are you making?"

Oh, now he sounded concerned! Jo nudged the phone back towards his mouth as he spread four slices of bread out. "Sandwich." Before Steele could interrogate, Jo blustered on, all the while picking out sliced sandwich pieces that Harley had set out on a paper plate in the fridge and laying them into place, "Whole wheat, turkey breast, tomato, some of those little spinach leaves, and mayo. That fancy olive oil stuff."

There was a beat of silence. Then, "Carry on. Take him outside when you're done, he's supposed to get fresh air." Then, the other line clicked dead. Jo rolled his eyes again and put the top bread on.

"Fresh air's better than smelling your crap." He stuffed his phone away. "Gage, come get it!"

It was summer, so Jo couldn't, in good conscience, keep the kid inside. The city was waiting for them, endless possibilities and a thousand things you just couldn't get anywhere else. However, the second he got Gage outside, he wondered if he shouldn't have put him on a leash. He was all over the sidewalk, playing hopscotch on cracked concrete and faded chalk, waving to truckers and policemen as they strolled past. Jo's arm felt a little heavier in the cast every time he had to jog to catch up with him, his lungs a little more shallow.

Still, Jo knew for sure that he didn't have nearly enough Batman in his apartment to keep Gage happy for long, but he knew a place that did. He'd rode past Banzai Comics a couple dozen times, enough to remember where it was, and Gage gaped at all the shelves, slackjawed somewhere between shock and glee. "You mean we're gonna hang out here?"

"Sure thing." Jo smirked and set his good hand in his pocket, continuing to explain even as Gage yelped praises in rapidfire joy, "See, I know all the coolest places to go. I've even got a little pocket change, so you can get a couple issues to take with you." Gage's shouting stopped short, and he threw his arms around Jo.

And for once, Jo could understand his overexcited speech: "Thankyou!"

Jo located and leafed through a trade copy of Bimbos in Time (because he was pretty sure he'd seen that movie and he wanted to see if the comic was just as good), as Gage surrounded himself with stacks of Superman and Spiderman and slowly pored his way through, his big, bright eyes intense with concentration, and his big mouth, for once, shut. He eventually came up with three back issues of the Ultimate Avengers, and tugged Jo's sleeve. "These're the best right now. I think it's 'cause they're tryin' to be as good as the movie."

Jo flipped Bimbos in Time 2 shut (a disappointment compared to the original) and fluffed Gage's hair. "Yeah, prob'ly. I'll buy 'em for ya." He dug out his wallet with a grin, and slung an arm around Gage's shoulder. "So who's your favorite? The Hulk?" He elbowed Gage a little. "Or maybe Black Widow? She's my favorite, with that catsuit-"

"Ew, don't be weird, she's just a comic book character!" Gage laughed and elbowed Jo. "It's gotta be Iron Man! No, wait, Cap! No, Iron Man!" He began to argue with himself, and while Jo was barely needed in the conversation, he still smirked and nodded along whenever Gage slowed down, all the way to the register and then back to the apartment, with adventure swinging in a bag around Gage's wrist and through his wild monkey brain.

The city swelter swallowed everything, the heat somehow even worse in the shade until a rare breeze whipped through the narrow alleys and carried the stench of cars from the highway in. It was miserable work on a bike, tires sticking to the tar, and even standing still too long made the soles of cheap Payless shoes melt. Still, in Gage's little bubble of noise, Jo couldn't feel it, couldn't smell it, didn't care. It wasn't until it came time to walk him back that Jo minded in the slightest, as he slouched at the mission door with Gage at his side. His back was drenched and the plaster was itchy on his skin, so he couldn't help but sulk as the door opened. Steele arched an eyebrow at the sight, Jo hunched over, Gage pert and perky, bright-eyed, holding his purchases in one arm, his polo slung over his arm and his undershirt damp, and carrying his bag of goodies. He might as well have been wagging his tail, like a dog greeting his master after a long day away. Steele, as usual, seemed unimpressed.

"Gage, what did you do to him? I think you crushed his antennae."

"It's hot, stupid!" Jo slicked the sweat from his brow and forehead and tried to make his wilted bangs fall back into place. "But we had an awesome time, didn't we?"

"I can't believe we get to do this every day!" Gage jumped over the threshold and threw his arms around Father Steele. "Even if it's not just like this, it's gonna be so much fun!"

"Hm." Steele slipped easily from Gage's hold, and fixed an even, dispassionate stare on Jo. Gage sidled right back to Jo and clung to his arm, putting himself between them, but Steele seemed to reconcile something in his mind and crossed his arms. "And Harley's with you tomorrow, correct?"

"That's correct," Harley's voice answered from around the corner, and he joined the other two. Even he looked a bit faded from the temperature, his face flushed and sweating, but he hadn't even rolled up his shirtsleeves. He raised a hand in greeting, his trademark smile rising to mollify Father Steele. "I believe we were going to an art museum."

"An art museum?" Both Jo and Gage groaned, and Steele whipped his newspaper from his sleeve and batted them both.

"It's culture. The two of you could use it."

"We live in a major metropolitan area," Harley explained, diplomatically. "There are no less than twelve museums in the city or within a ten-mile radius thereof, and we're only an hour on the MARC train from the Smithsonian museums." He numbered on his fingers. "This includes zoological museums, of course, but art, history, specific subsets of history, specific war histories, natural history-" Jo and Gage were both moaning again, and Harley held his hand out. "Smartphone, please." Jo passed Harley his phone, and he quickly swiped a few things, typed something, and held out a photograph of a blue whale skeleton over an array of exhibits. Gage's mouth formed an astonished 'o,' and Harley smiled. "Natural history." He gave the phone to Gage and let him look through some of the other exhibits, and smiled back at Jo. "I've been to these museums before, but it's been a very long time. I would dearly like to return, and both of you will enjoy yourselves, somehow or other." His smile turned sharp, but Jo didn't feel threatened.

He was too distracted by the lightbulbs that had just turned on in his brain.

This was something Harley really wanted, wasn't it? Spending time with Gage, giving him affection and attention, that had made Gage comfortable when he'd been anxious, and the way Gage was still hanging on his arm told him that a day of fun had only made it better. He'd done everything Gage wanted.

"You know, those museums might not be so bad." Jo folded his arms and set a hand on his chin, smirking knowingly. "'Sides, doesn't Gage have to do some sorta homework?" Gage groaned and yanked Jo's arms.

"Don't remind me!"

If he could spend this vacation giving Gage the time of his life and giving him the city, he could do the same for Harley.

* * *

Harley planned to retrieve Gage at eight in the morning, and though Jo quietly griped through the shower, he didn't mind. Haku sang for the morning sun now, the same familiar tune, and Jo came out of the shower, toweling his hair, to see Harley holding Haku on his finger and Haku proudly trilling it out. He finished, and Harley offered him a thin slice of apple. Haku hopped over to peck at it, punching little notches in with his beak, as Harley ran his finger down the back of Haku's head. "Lovely. He's gotten good at that one."

"Yeah?" Jo smirked, trying hard not to look too proud. "Guess hearing you play it helped him pick it up."

"It is my favorite song, but I don't listen to it often. I don't want to get tired of it." Harley turned on his heel and returned Haku to his cage, leaving the rest of the apple on his dish. "I tend to skip around. I've been listening to OK Go a bit recently." He tapped a few things on his phone, and an upbeat song started up.

_"No you can't keep lettin' it get you down, and you can't keep dragging that dead weight around!"_

"Oh." Jo's eyebrows wrought up, wondering just how much Harley was seeing through. Harley said no more, but hummed along with his phone under his breath as he put the rest of the sliced apple in a plastic bag, and Jo turned, one eye still over his shoulder, as he fished for underwear and pants in his laundry basket, and Harley went to the counter to continue packing lunches.

"I hope he learns some more songs soon. I'm certainly glad he found his voice, but variety is the spice of life, no?" He put some sandwiches in the bag, followed by a frozen bottle of water. "After all, that's another reason it's so important to vary things up, and go to museums and such. Life experience broadens the mind." He zipped up the lunch bag, and the song slowed down a little as Harley tapped his chin. "If nothing else, it makes you more interesting, wouldn't you agree?"

"I guess." Jo frowned a little, wondering what Harley was getting at. Harley, as mysterious as always, slung the lunch bag around his arm.

"It's like a key change in a song." He held the phone up.

_"Let it go, this too shall pass..."_

"Mixing things up changes how a song feels." Harley beamed, but turned the song off. "Just the same, new experiences can change how a person thinks. With that in mind, why don't we go retrieve our young charge for our daily adventure?"

Jo was first confused, then lost. "What?"

Harley giggled, and pointed to Jo's laundry basket. "Put a shirt on so we can go get Gage."

Harley had picked up a bus schedule and map at some point, and did his best to hustle Jo and Gage to the right stops. It took Jo's foreknowledge of the routes to get them on the 14 circuit at Johnson Street to take them down towards the harbor. "Where're we goin' anyway? You said art museum, right?" He asked, through the bumpy, jostling ride over potholes and too-short stoplights, acting as the barrier to cram both Gage and Harley in. Harley pointed to their destination on the map, and Jo read it even as Gage lolled onto Harley's lap to read.

"The Aquarium!" Jo smiled, and Gage gasped then threw his arms around Harley. "Man, I don't think I've been there for like two years."

"Ah, you have been?" Harley raised an eyebrow, and Jo shrugged.

"It's a good place for dates."

The Harbor Aquarium was at the end of a pier, and the long walk from the nearest bus stop was strewn with an array of stone statues of some of the Aquarium's most famous inhabitants. Dolphins performing jumps, the seals that used to inhabit an outdoor pen when the weather was right, puffer fish, and, to Gage's delight:

"It's a shark!" He bolted right past the queue line to circle the Great White statue in the middle of the plaza. Jo and Harley met eyes in a wordless exchange, settled by a shrug from Harley, and Jo followed Gage to the statue. "Lookit how cool!" Gage yanked his phone from his pocket- Steele had gotten him a newer model since Ysidro had smashed the last one- and tossed it to Jo. Jo dove and caught it, as Gage chanted, "Take a picture! Take a picture! Take-"

"I'm taking, I'm taking!" Jo turned the phone the right way, but the moment he put the camera up, he realized Gage had already scaled the statue and was mounted on it like a carousel horse.

"Take a picture! Take a picture!" Gage waved both arms over his head, shouting at the top of his lungs and beaming, camera-ready. Jo whipped his head around, fumbling with the camera, but no security guards were in sight. He quickly snapped the picture, checked that it came out, then bolted up to the statute and held his hands out.

"Get your ass down!" Gage nonchalantly jumped off and gingerly took the phone back from Jo, as he wiped his brow. "Christ, I dunno what your Dad'd do to me if you got hurt..." Or arrested, he added in his own mind.

Harley returned with the tickets as Gage got his last photograph of the statues, and Jo and Harley flanked him to guide him in as he babbled all about everything. He couldn't even be taken in by the atmosphere as they crossed into the aquarium foyer, out of the summer morning sun and into the cool blue entryway. Tanks of silver fish in schools flanked the walls from the floor to the ceiling, but Gage bolted forward to the wide open pool, right to the railing, and peered down and in. Jo and Harley, a few steps behind, stopped to glance around at all the welcome signs, until Gage seized Jo by the cast and pulled him with him.

"Check out the rays, Jojo!"

"Watch the arm, moron!" Jo shook his arm, but leaned over to look into the tank. The pool was bigger than his apartment, and there were stingrays and large fish swimming around in the vast blue. Jo caught a glimpse of a green sea turtle big enough for Gage to ride on, and grinned. "But this is pretty cool, innit?"

"Yeah!" Gage yanked his phone out and tapped to take photos of the rays streaming through the water. Jo saw Harley sidle up next to him out of the corner of his eye, and a natural smile came into place. Last time he'd been here, he'd been too busy flirting and copping a feel whenever his guest for the day gave him an opening, but he was actually getting to take it in this time. He felt strangely peaceful, between Harley, Gage, and the water, like a baby in a cradle, and set himself fully at ease to enjoy it with a deep breath in, then out. The smell of the salt water, the cool, dank atmosphere, the relaxing rush of the water in the tank below...

And a pair of familiar voices over it.

"You can tell the manta rays from the stingrays 'cause of the stingers, even if you don't know anything else." That small voice, squeaky and strident, but smarter than Jo'd ever heard it before. "Mantas don't have stingers. Sting rays do. But you see how they move, right?"

"Water wings, yes." Yana! That was definitely Yana! Jo turned around a few times to see Yana and Lily, standing at the tank ten feet away, Yana was wearing a casual blue-striped sundress with her long hair down, and Lily was holding a sketchpad and taking notes. Yana smiled at Lily and pointed at one of the signs. "It's like they're flying!"

"Right!" Lily held her pen up, clicked it a few times, then took a few more notes. "It's 'cause of the cartilage in their fins. Their body shapes developed around the cartilage, and they've adapted to it. It's just interesting, since sharks move from side to side like most fish, but they move up and down, but they're both cartilaginous, and definitely related. I'm pretty sure it's because of the depths they swim at. I'll have to get a book on that." She beamed, and took a few more notes, as Yana covered her mouth and giggled.

"You'll have to tell me all about it. It's fascinating, but I could never put things together like that."

Jo shut his jaw, but couldn't keep it shut. "Yana?!" Yana and Lily both looked, Yana's eyebrows raised in surprise, and Lily with a gleeful grin.

"Jo!"

"Jojo! I thought I wasn't gonna see you 'til you were back from staycation!" She ran up to him, arms out, and Jo laughed and ruffled her hair.

"Me too, brat. Funny meeting you two here!" Harley and Gage both turned as Jo stepped back from the tank to talk to them.

"I'm just here with Lily." Yana put her hands on Lily's shoulders, and Lily tipped her head back to beam up at her. "Lily's got a summer project for her Honors Marine Science class."

"Honors Marine Science?" Jo guffawed, but stifled it with his hand. "I thought for sure you'd be spending your summer break trying to beat your high score on Cut the Rope."

"Sure, later." Lily shrugged, still smiling. "But I wanna study this first!" She suddenly seemed to look around him, and her smile changed when she laid eyes on Gage. "Ooh, what's your name?"

Gage's cheeks turned pink. "Um, I'm Gage..." His voice didn't jump like it did when he talked to Sana. He seemed more wary than anything.

"Ah." Yana, too, seemed to realize Jo wasn't alone, and extended a hand to Harley. Jo's chest seized, and he found himself newly wary. "You must be Joel's roommate." Harley gingerly shook her hand, a conversational smile rising to his cheeks.

"I am, yes. Harley. You're... Yana?"

"Yes. I suppose Joel's talked about me?" Her face split with a bright smile, and she laced her fingers in front of her, as Harley folded his hands behind his back. Jo grimaced. "Nothing nice, I'm sure."

Harley chuckled, his eyes glancing off of Jo and then back to her. "Oh, I assure you, he's never said an unkind word." Jo flushed a little and tried to remember everything he'd told Harley about her, which didn't amount to much, but Yana giggled with a hint of disbelief.

"Now, now, no need to soften the blow. I don't mind, to be honest." She swung her laced fingers, and Jo couldn't help but notice the way her body moved in that pretty little dress. He winced and dropped his face towards the floor, and took a step back.

"So, uh, what brings you out?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his fingers itching at the insides of his pockets.

"Why, Lily, of course." Yana gestured to Lily where she was talking to- rather, talking at Gage, and Gage was turning pink and mumbling timid answers. "Ken wanted to bring her, but he can't really take vacation when he has so much going on, but I had some time I could use, so I offered."

"Wow, really?" Jo wasn't sure what to be more surprised by- Ken not taking vacation, or Yana willingly taking time to spend with her.

Yana, graciously, answered the latter. "I've known her since she was a little girl. Ken and I have been friends since childhood, and I've babysat dozens of times." She beamed, but her tone was, although as sweet and endearing as ever, just a bit accusatory: "After all, how did you think I knew he was hiring when you were hired?"

Jo stammered, arms coming out to gesture nervously. "I mean, of course you and Ken are cool! I mean, makes perfect sense, y'know, I mean..." Harley patted Jo's shoulder.

"I think he's a bit surprised at seeing you out of your office." His fingers pushed down, gently, but clearly shoving Jo's heels into the ground. "I was a bit flustered at seeing my therapist at the grocery store when I was a child, until I remembered he, too, was human." He giggled, with an oddly musical tone to Jo's ear. "One simply becomes so used to viewing people who provide them with services as only the provider of that service, it becomes so easy to forget that they don't live in their offices."

"Y-yeah." Jo agreed, and stiffened his spine. Just then, Gage yelped and grabbed onto his shirt.

"Jojo, she's makin' fun'a me!"

"Ooh, you call him Jojo, too?" Jo turned to see Lily giggling, and Gage had bits of paper stuck in his hair. He felt Harley's chest inflate behind him, and Harley spun on his heel to dust Gage off.

"Goodness."

Yana tugged Lily out of Harley's way. "Lily, you should know better!" She set Lily at her shoulder, and Lily, clearly tempered, bowed her head and stared at her feet. "That's not how you treat people, is it?" She gave Gage a sincerely apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Gage stuck his tongue out at Lily, then beamed at Yana. "It's not your fault, miss." He pouted as he glanced back to Lily. "I don't like teasing."

"Teasing's just what you do to boys!" Lily folded her arms. "Kenny says not to, but I can't help it!"

Jo suddenly had a stark new understanding of why Lily, who, as it turned out, was plenty smart when she cared about what she was studying, was homeschooled.

"We'd best be on our merry way." Yana hooked an arm around Lily's shoulders. "Joel, I'll see you later this week. Harley, Gage, it's been a pleasure to meet you."

"The same to you." Harley kept one arm clamped on Gage's shoulder as Yana escorted Lily away, but Jo caught the faintest snatches of their conversation.

"Oh, isn't he Big Daddy Steele's son?"

"Yes, and I think you might know exactly why you're only just now meeting him..."

Harley, meanwhile, tapped Jo's shoulder. "Joel, you seemed flustered."

"Well, yeah." Jo turned, rubbing at his own cheeks. They still felt hot under his fingers even in the cool humid shade. "I mean... I guess... I ain't never seen Yana lookin' like that before!" He flailed his hands, gesturing to the length of her sundress and its spaghetti straps with his fingers. "I mean, she's pretty good lookin'! I didn't even think... man, I used to try pick-up lines on her for a laugh, 'til it stopped being funny!"

Gage snickered. "Ooh, Jojo's got a girlfriend."

"Watch it, shrimp, or I'll push you in." Jo advanced on Gage, and Gage giggled as he took a step back towards the railing. "Bet they ain't never heard of a monkey ray, huh?"

"I'll push you in to wash all the red from your cheeks! Like a pervy-fish!"

"Children." Harley's voice was almost sing-song, and both Jo and Gage stood attention. He held up the map. "Why don't we try to enjoy the rest of our trip?"

They did. The schools of tropical fish in all their tanks schooled around their fingers when they put them to the glass. Harley spent nearly ten minutes observing the octopus as it methodically opened and devoured clams. Gage, likewise, spent nearly half an hour in the Amazon enclosure at the top of the building, where the river basin team had recreated a tiny patch of dense jungle. He saw a sign indicating that there were mandarin monkeys in the trees, and insisted on finding a picture of one, "So you can show Dad, and tell him you left me here! And then he'll beat you with the newspaper, and I'll laugh forever!"

Jo nearly pushed Gage into the river of enormous brown fish with mouths bigger than Jo's hand, and Gage returned the favor by shoving him into the log where the tarantula was displayed. Harley, of course, profusely apologized to the staff on both of their behalves and left tugging both of their sleeves, even as Gage showed off his photograph to Jo. "Perfect shot. Looks like it's laughing at you!"

The path back down was in an oval trail through a ring of sharks. Gage gawked with every step, in awe of the nurse sharks and lemon sharks, but Jo noticed that Harley shrunk down a little as they descended.

"You okay, dude?" Jo nudged his arm with his elbow as Harley trudged down the path, eyes on the ground, palms pressed together and fingers nervously battling against one another in front of his stomach.

"Yes, for the most part." Jo frowned and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for more, as Gage ran a lap around one of the walkways that ran the inner perimeter of the oval, chasing after a particularly big shark. "Simply... that sinking feeling, and the close walls. It always makes me uneasy."

"Yeah?" Jo glanced around. The walls did seem to be getting closer as they moved down and through. "Well, hey, we were up before. We gotta go down, else we'll just hit the sun or something." He grinned, and Harley giggled, then actually smiled in that strange way that told Jo it was real.

"I can think of worse ways to go, but then, I can also think of better." Gage whooped as a shark he'd already nicknamed Jaws passed right over their heads, and Harley quickly turned up towards him. "Gage, inside voice." He sounded normal already, and Jo grinned to himself.

He still didn't break from Harley's side until they all reached the bottom. The last exhibits were jellyfish, which fascinated Harley and Gage, but Jo was fine stepping back a little and taking photographs of the two of them. Mostly Harley. It was rare Jo caught him smiling this much, and the way the black lights in the tanks caught on Harley's glasses made him look like an alien god from the movies. Yeah. Just like the movies.

Weird, how it was just a little better seeing Harley smile than Yana in her pretty sundress.

The hardest part of the whole visit was leaving. Jo got it- the Aquarium was smart, they needed money to feed all those fish, and there were plenty of little kids who love cheap plastic souvenirs- but why the hell did there have to be six gift shops between the last exhibit and the path out? Gage, being the target audience, wanted to look in every single one.

"Gage, I ain't buyin' you the stupid shark mouth." Jo grabbed the pole as Gage used the handheld trigger to chomp the shark head down on his shirt again. He'd taken the same position he had in the last three gift stores- propped on the wall next to the cubbyholes of colorful T-shirts, hands stuffed in his pockets, glaring into space over the general swath of overpriced dolphin and shark-decorated junk.

"I wasn't askin' ya to!" Gage gave Jo's arm a few more light chomps, and Jo rolled his eyes down to glare at him. He was already wearing a foam hat that looked like a tropical frog and a bright green T-shirt with the tag hanging from his armpit, and a big, dumb grin. "I was gonna buy stuff! Prob'ly not this, though." He dropped the plastic shark head onto the shelf behind him, balancing it between a decorative clock and a commemorative plate. Close enough.

"You're gonna buy stuff?" Jo pressed his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the corner of his wallet in his back pocket through the side seam of his pants. "How?"

"Dad gave me this." Gage reached into his own pocket and pulled out a twenty. Jo cocked his head, because he could see the shirt Gage had on cost more than that.

"Kid, that was real sweet of him, but-"

"Don't worry, I got it!" Gage grinned and bounded off again, and Jo stammered out an incoherent protest, but the kid was off and away. He groaned, hoping Gage didn't hit the ground too hard when he crashed, but another voice distracted him.

"Jojo?" That same, annoying little voice that greeted him in the office most mornings. Lily peered out from next to the T-shirt rack, and beamed. "It is you! We didn't get to play earlier!"

"Well, you were out with Miss Yana, not me." He smirked. "Besides, I only go on dates with girls my age." Plus, Ken would kill him, and she was annoying anyway, he added in his own mind. Lily scrunched her nose up at the thought too. "Where is Miss Yana, anyway?"

"She said to wait here so she could get me a present." Lily shrugged and pressed her heels together, settling to lean against the shelf just next to him. Jo did the math fast- if Lily was waiting here, she wasn't running all over the store. Smart thinking, Miss Nenevich. "How 'bout you? Where's all your cute friends?"

"They're-" Jo stopped, and glanced around. Where had Harley gone? "Uh, Gage is looking, and I think Harley's-"

"Right here." Jo jumped, because he hadn't heard Harley approach. He donned a mollifying smile and propped himself on the shelf next to Jo. "You left me behind near the dolphin arena when Gage decided he wanted to look in the shark-themed store."

"Dolphin arena?" Jo's eyes widened. "Hell, I forgot the dolphin show!"

"No, you didn't." Lily hung her head, her voice dropping with it. "There's no dolphin show anymore. They decided it was bad for the dolphins."

"I think we walked past their tank," Harley added, then turned his eyes to meet Jo's and address him directly. "But yes, after the separate deaths of two infant dolphins shortly after their births for unknown causes over two consecutive years, they decided the dolphins should only perform for play, not for show. Hopefully, the reduced stress-"

"- means more baby dolphins!" Lily perked up, beaming again. "That'd be the best!"

"Oh, do you like dolphins, Miss Lily?" Harley tilted out towards Jo with an inquisitive quirk of his eyebrows.

"They're my favorite!" She grinned. "See, that's what I wanna do. I wanna train animals! Like, dolphins are best, but dogs or wolves or bears, too! I know zoos don't need a lot of trainers, but Kenny says if I work hard and try hard, I can do it!"

"That's a very nice aspiration." Harley giggled, and held his hand out, palm up. "I hope you make it." Lily gasped, and gave Harley a high-five.

"Thank you, Mister!" She flung herself around Jo and latched onto Harley in a sudden, tight hug. Harley lifted his hands away, a grimace flashing over his face, before uncomfortably patting her shoulders.

"There, now. Just don't get distracted, like your brother says, yes?" He used his thumbs to pry her off, and she bolted off to find Yana, still shouting happy thanks back to Harley until she vanished into the maze of aisles. Jo, of course, went right into damage control, because Harley looked like he needed it.

"You good, dude?" He rested his hand on Harley's shoulder, but kept some distance between the two of them.

"Mm." Harley seemed to relax under Jo's palm. "Just... touching people, sometimes... She surprised me." He then brushed Jo's hand away. "I'm fine, really."

"If you're sure." Jo raked his eyes over Harley, taking in his posture. He faintly remembered Yana saying something about support groups for friends of the mentally ill. Sometimes, though, it was real easy to forget that Harley just plain wasn't all there.

Then again, sometimes, neither was Jo. "Jojo!" Gage had sneaked right up on him, and he jumped, knocking his head right into a shelf above his head. He shook himself straight, head spinning, and promptly whacked Gage up across the chin with flat fingers.

"Jesus, kid, warn a guy first!"

Gage just grinned and held out a plastic bag in his hands. "Open it, open it, open it!" Jo rolled his eye, but passed the bag to Harley.

"You do it." He folded his arms and turned his head away, but Harley granted Gage a good-natured smile and peeled the bag open.

"Why, Gage, is this for me?" Jo had to look, as Harley held up a pair of cheap sunglasses with dolphins on the arms. Gage nipped his hand in and grabbed the other two pairs, one with lionfish charms and the last one with sharks.

"For all of us! I even got a pair for Dad!" He yanked out the last set, these with turtles on the sides, but shoved the lionfish pair onto Jo's face. "See, now we can all do this!" He put the bag and the last pair down, then whipped his cellphone out and turned it to face them. "On the count of three!"

Harley and Gage both put their glasses down as Gage counted aloud, and Jo barely managed to force a grin before the camera flashed. The picture came out crooked, and when Gage dragged Father Steele to Rite-Aid and somehow printed it out there, it was blurry, but Harley still made a copy for himself. Jo caught a glimpse it on the fridge every time he went to open it from then on, Harley's fake smile real for a moment, Gage as bright and genuine as ever, and him, caught up in himself and them, but they caught him smiling.

That was their summer in a nutshell.

* * *

Days with Jo were spent idly, or as idle as Gage got. They ran around the block, Jo usually taking the lead with his long legs for the first ten blocks, then wheezing and panting through a smoker's cough for the last leg. The humid air got a little bit more bearable when the cast finally came off. Jo took him to his favorite fun spots. He knew the city enough to know where the best pizza was, which pools were deepest or had the best waterslide, and all the cool little junk shops a kid could want to visit. They visited the Golden Monkey more than a few times, and they hit the comic shop whenever there were new releases. Every once in a while, Jo would (with explicit permission and usually no less than two whacks to the cranium from Father Steele's newspaper) usher him through subway turnstiles and corner him on a train bench, ride up towards the suburbs, and roam around the mall there. Sometimes, though, they just hung out on the sofa watching movies and eating popcorn.

Days with Harley were structured. He had a litany of places he wanted to take them, and seemed to spend time where he should have had keyboard to clean and motherboards to replace making maps of bus routes and trains to get anywhere he needed to go. Harley had promised art museums and history museums, and he delivered. Harley only had to ask Father Steele with just the right smile to have Gage on their doorstep at 6 a.m., dressed and groggy, to get onto the MARC train to DC for a day at the Smithsonian museums. Six of them. On three separate days. (Not one whack with the newspaper.) Gage had mumbled concerns that he'd be bored to Jo:

"It's not that it's not cool, I mean, I'm sure it is." He ducked down against the ticket booth, his hair brushing bandit posters and sloppy MSPaint fliers for garage bands playing at hole-in-the-wall bars. "Or Harl might think it is. I'm sure it's real, um, educational. It's just, I know if I get bored, I'm gonna start goofing around, and Harl'll get upset."

Jo just cuffed the kid on the head. "Don't freak. Just remember, if you upset Harl, he'll... well." Jo nodded his head towards Harley at the ticket counter, wearing his usual shallow smile and making polite conversation. "Just look at him. You really wanna get him upset?"

This prompted a whole lot of head-shaking, all the way down the escalators and halfway to the National Mall. Gage was worried about being bored until they got ten steps into the museum of natural history, and he and Jo spotted the gargantuan blue whale carcass strung from the ceiling, all golden bones and as big as Gage had ever imagined an animal could be, better than the photograph Harley had showed him. Maybe bigger, and better than Gage could have dreamed.

There were no more complaints about visiting the museums. Not when there were videos and old paintings and exhibits Gage could hold in his hands. Jo mostly tried to stand back and not look blown away by it all. He'd never seen any of it either, but he was a full grown man. He had to act cool and pretend this education stuff wasn't kind of amazing. Still, he couldn't help but spend more than a little time gaping at the Hope Diamond on its rotating pedestal display, behind glass and a litany of guards:

"Man, I'd be set for, like, ten years if I could sell this thing, huh?" He looked to Harley, who stifled laughter into his hand.

"I suppose if you ate nothing but caviar and champagne, yes, ten years would be a modest estimate." Jo just turned back to gawking at it, leaning as close to the glass as the crowds let him, though smirking.

"Never been into the fancy stuff, but can you imagine just how much Top Ramen that thing'd buy?"

Harley actually had to step into the hallway to have a giggle fit. Jo called the day victorious.

The Smithsonian zoo was a favorite, if not for Gage, then certainly for Jo and Harley. Somehow or other, Gage knew how to get the attention of any animal they walked past. He didn't hoot or holler, but he naturally shifted his body language, and it caught their attention. The ocelots came to pace in front of him, shoulders low, ducking under the vines and crawling over the logs in their cage to follow his tracks, back and forth in front of the wires. The otters frolicked at his feet where he stood in front of the enclosure, laughing as hard as he was. Even the giant panda lumbered a few steps closer to him when he caught its eye, before retreating to its den. Gage didn't even seem surprised. Very happy, but not surprised.

"Dad says I got a way with animals!" He beamed, as Harley and Jo took a few steps back. What else were they supposed to do when Gage had both arms out like a scarecrow, and an entire flock of budgies were pushing and shoving for space on his limbs and forehead. Jo tapped Harley on the shoulder as Gage grinned and started naming all the birds, from left to right.

"You sure he ain't supposed to live here? Pretty sure I heard about a chimp escape. Let's turn him in!" Jo winked, but Harley stared back, his expression flat.

"Joel?"

"Mhm?"

"If we don't bring him back, who do you think Father Steele will shoot first?"

Jo quickly abandoned any thoughts he had, surface deep and sarcastic as they might have been, of abandoning his little buddy. "He's our chimp, anyway."

Harley cracked a smile, and returned to watching Gage chatter with his new avian friends. "So he is."

Harley didn't always have to take them across state lines to have a good time. The Chance Harbor Imaginative Art Museum was a thrill. Boring landscape paintings? Not for Gage, but sculptures made of car parts and tires that could be climbed on? Interactive exhibits that let Gage take home a piece of modern art he made from trash? Yes. Very yes.

Even long walks to playgrounds were fine for the three of them. Harley seemed to be in an off mood when he asked Jo where the best jungle gym in the city was, and Jo couldn't say no to that face or the odd request. That took them on a sun-soaked walk through Founder's Park, and Jo deliberately led them on the path past the Founder's Monument.

"Usually we do something a little educational, right?" Jo stopped as they got to the paved plaza, walled by high hedges, and the bronze statue of two men, one in traditional frog-clasp garb and one in a priest's cassock, shaking hands over a small boy with a shaved head but for a long ponytail, chasing after a frog. "So, these are the Founders, I guess." He grinned and bounded forward to tap the placard. "You been here before, Gage?"

"Sure," Gage shrugged. "When I was a kid." He circled the statue. "I don't get it, though. Why's there a little Chinese kid?"

Jo scratched his chin. "I never thought about it."

"Ah." Harley seemed to perk suddenly. "Now that's an interesting story." He straightened his back, perfect, prim teacher smile on, and lifted one finger near his face. "Do you know about Baltimore?"

Jo lifted his shoulders, raising up from where he'd leaned over the placard, and shook his head a little. Gage, however, rubbed his nose, then put his hand up to answer, "Oh, that was the city that was here before, right?"

"So it was." Harley laid a hand on the shoulder of the statue, his gaze distant, recalling as if he were looking straight back to the distant past. "It was founded in colonial times, an urban hub for immigrants and exports, and expanded and grew as a shining beacon on the Bay, up until the second World War."

"What, you mean with the Nazis?" Jo put a finger under his nose. He'd seen enough war movies to know what was up. Harley cleared his throat, but nodded just the same.

"The Axis was largely comprised on three fronts- Germany, Italy, and an island country once known as Nihon, or Japan." He drummed his fingers against one another in thoughtful percussion. "There were other allies and neutral parties that cooperated with them, and conquered territory under their control, but those were the big three. America had been an neutral ally to the Allied Forces of Britain and France, up until Japan launched a largely unprovoked attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii."

"Oh, yeah, like the movies. Uh, Tora Tora Tora, right?" Jo snapped his fingers. "I remember that."

"Wait, you mean they just... did it?" Gage gaped a little, and perched on the pedestal, legs swinging, but at full attention. "They blew up the whole thing? For no reason?"

"Not for no reason." Harley rubbed his chin, his eyes dropping for a moment as he thought, then returned to let his eye contact rove over both Gage and Jo. "America had been subtly assisting the Allied Forces despite claiming neutrality, and Germany's loose alliance with Japan and Japan's grand ambition of world domination allowed for Germany to convince Japan to open hostilities." Harley pushed his glasses up his nose, shifting his weight as his face hardened. "This was a mistake on both fronts. America immediately charged into the war with the Allied Forces and began airstrikes in Japan, as well as joining the ground offensive in Germany and the naval offensive in both the Atlantic and the Pacific."

"This required the construction of steel battleships and airplanes, not to mention ammunition for both, and Baltimore was very, very significant in that. Baltimore was a hub for steel production. One of the biggest and busiest in the nation, and in a prime position for export." Harley tented his fingers. "Most significantly, it constructed planes that were instrumental in the nuclear strikes on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As Germany was failing on the Russian front and Italy had long since flagged, Japan was expected to surrender."

"They did not." Harley pursed his lips. "Six days after the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Japan arranged a massive airstrike from a German base, and they set their sights here." He tapped his toe to the pavement. "Baltimore burned to the ground, leaving nothing but rubble and char. Nearly two hundred thousand perished instantly, and hundreds of thousands more were injured. It was the most horrific foreign attack on American soil, and the greatest single casualty of battle America has ever known." He took a deep breath, as this sunk in on both Gage and Jo. There had been another city under their feet before, and now, there simply wasn't. "Due to Baltimore's proximity to the capital and its historical significance, America redoubled its efforts. Japan continued to fight with America for another two years after the destruction of Baltimore, long after the battlefront in Europe had closed. It only stopped fighting when China entered as an American ally, then quickly severed ties with America upon forming an alliance with Russia."

"That was the start of the Shangri-La empire." Harley paced partway around the statue, as Jo scratched his head. "China and Japan had been at each other's throats, or always on the verge thereof, for literal centuries. Japan invaded China and much of East Asia during World War II, though they were rebuffed when Japan redirected its forces to staving off America, but with Japan severely weakened from its protracted spat with the Allied Forces, China began to take back with interest. Korea and Vietnam were both depleted from Japanese occupation, and were swiftly overwhelmed by Chinese invasion. China took Japan in 1948, and that, along with a significant chunk of what was then the USSR, mostly the region referred to as Mongolia, is Shangri-La. America has joined operations to try and break the Empire in the decades since, the 1950's and 1970's in particular, but, as they say, the Dragon of Shangri-La coils tightly around its hoard." Harley laced his fingers behind his back. "But in the wake of that, refugees fled west through the Middle East and Africa to arrive here."

"In the 1950's, America was struggling with placement for boatloads of immigrants from the Empire and from Europe, not to mention hundreds of thousands of Japanese-American citizens who had been forced into internment camps on the West Coast whose homes were subsequently seized." Harley lifted his hand to touch the shoulder of the missionary. "It happened to be a Catholic missionary who'd been stationed in Vietnam before taking his parish and fleeing who first appealed to authorities to let them have Baltimore. Many Japanese immigrants then sent letters, asking to rebuild what their leaders destroyed, and with a great outpouring of pleas to renew this land, led by immigrants and missionaries, the land that had once been Baltimore was given over to the people, to give all of them a second chance." Harley gestured to the statue. "This is representative of the cooperation between the missionaries, once strangers in strange lands, and the new Americans who'd escaped the horrors of the Shangri-La wars, hoping to create a happier life for the next generation-" He touched the statue of the child on the head. "Free of war, free of worry. Such was the founding of Chance Harbor."

Gage and Jo stared, Gage still on his perch, Jo shifting his feet as he thought, and Harley studied them both. Finally, Harley's serious expression broke for a bright smile. "There will be a quiz later. I do hope you both took notes!"

"Oh! Oh!" Gage gasped and grabbed at his head. "No fair, Harl! You gotta tell me again!"

"Hey, I remember," Jo volunteered with a grin. "I'll tell you the whole thing again, but only if you beat me to the playground." He pointed down the hedgerow to a path lined with fountains and a distant pagoda. "On your mark-" Before Jo could finish counting, Gage zipped off, whooping and shouting for Jo, and Jo let him get a head start as he and Harley followed behind. "So, is it all true?"

"Is what all true?" Harley furrowed his brow.

"About Chance Harbor, being a second chance for ex-Shangri-La folks?" Jo drew out a cigarette and lit it in a smooth motion, his smile surface deep and his voice low. "They gave us this city, then bought it up into the Business District. Ain't nobody here got a chance, do we?"

"I don't think that's true. Everyone gets a second chance, and so, we have to have a first chance first." Harley folded his arms, and Jo blew a smoke ring away from him.

"Not like this. Not with everyone in Little Shangri-La broker than jokers." He groaned and rolled his neck back. "There's two Chance Harbors. The Business District and here."

"This wasn't a discussion on income inequality."

"Nah, it's about giving the kid false hope." Jo grimaced at Harley and stomped his spent butt as they passed over it. "Money controls everything. Without it, you're screwed. If you got nothin', you are nothin'. This city was born broke, and here we are."

"Joel, that's not so." Harley laced his fingers, and his face fell. "There are things more valuable than money, and you know it." Jo studied his expression. "After all, there's us, isn't there?"

Jo glanced between Gage dashing ahead in bursts, and Harley shuffling at his side. "Well, yeah, we got each other. Guess it's enough." He then paused in his stride and jostled Harley's elbow. "Hey, remind me to make you do that more often."

"Hm?" Harley's eyebrow quirked up, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"When you start talkin' about stuff you know, you relax, and you... uh... no offense... you act normal. So, I just gotta get you to do lectures more often. You're a lot better than you were this morning." Jo grinned, as Harley took him in, then let his smile slip up into place.

"I'm sorry. Were you concerned about me?"

"You were doing that thing where you get all stiff and you don't make eye contact." Jo tapped his own eyebrow, and jostled Harley's arm with his elbow. "You're better now."

"Ah. I was deep in thought; forgive me."

"Think all you like, buddy." Jo chuckled, and gave Harley another elbow to the side. "Did you want to share what you were thinking about?"

Harley pressed his lips tight, then smiled. "This time, yes. I was thinking of how unfortunate it was that Gage is spending all this quality time with us-"

"What're ya sayin'?"

"-But none with Father Steele." Jo's jaw clicked shut as Harley finished, and Harley sighed and laced his hands behind him. "Before... well, before, when Gage was young, Father Steele would occasionally take him to do things like this. I have some memories of the man taking our young friend on walks to this very park. I had hoped you'd know the best playground in the city was this one." Harley nodded to indicate the jungle gym in the distance, which Gage had already scaled to stand at the top, waving and beckoning and hollering for them. Jo just scoffed.

"I know this city, man." He'd eaten more than a few Exxon hot dogs and Big Macs sitting on one of those benches while a play group from one of the in-home nurseries shared the sandbox. (Always brightened his day.) "So, you think the kid ought'a have some good time with his Dad?"

"Yes. It was easier when Cardinal Jakobi was alive for him to get away." Harley's chin dipped down. "He always acted like he was doing it reluctantly, begrudgingly, even, but he did it for Gage. I fear in the intervening years, he's let himself be consumed by other worries." He sighed again, and wrung his hands tight. "Gage is still a child, but by virtue of his living situation, he's up to his knees already in troubles. I know that's not what Father Steele wants for him, which I'm certain is half of why he's allowing us to tend to him." Jo nodded, and Harley's face hardened into that sad mask that he wore when he was 'thinking-' brooding, more like it- and he quietly added, "The poor child shouldn't have to worry about the misfortunes of others who are beyond his help, or of bombs overhead and violence around every corner. He won't be a child for very much longer. He should get to enjoy it, and I think he should be allowed to enjoy it with his father."

"Y'know, I couldn't agree with you more." Some vague sting of nostalgia hit Jo- either the bit he knew of Harley's history, of his father abandoning him to foster care, or his own memories of a man with dark hair and sad eyes that only came to Jo in very, very fuzzy scraps and pieces. "I say we talk to the old man, but only if you promise to cheer up."

Harley maintained a straight, somber façade for a second longer, then let it drop into the cool, natural smile that Jo was seeing more of and enjoying more each time. "I suppose we can ask him."

Gage came into earshot, shouting at the top of his lungs, "C'mon, guys, you can see everywhere from here!"

"Of course monkeys like high places," Jo chuckled, then broke into a jog. "Quit yelling, shrimp, you're gonna get us a noise complaint!"

Harley chuckled as Gage argued indistinctly back, as Jo bolted towards him, and he shook his head to himself.

"It's a shame I already know what he'll say."

* * *

"No." Steele hadn't even looked up from the bills unfolded on his desk, gaze focused through his reading glasses, a cigarette crumpling between his index and middle fingers. "I can't." He gestured around him, the stacks of files and papers and red-stamped letters, with his cigarette hand. "I don't have time."

"Father, please. It's something only you can do." Harley folded his hands in front of him, and Jo, propped against the file cabinet, sneered.

"Figures. Old man Steele can't make ten seconds for his pet monkey."

Steele scoffed, then yanked open the top drawer of his desk and put his pistol on the table. "Repeat that, Jo, and the only time you'll see him is if he brings flowers to your grave. And since I'm such a damned hardass, I probably won't let him."

"I'll help." Harley put his palms flat on the table. "I'll help you balance the budget for the summer. I know summer's your busy season-"

"Summer and winter," Steele grumbled. "Whenever the weather's hotter or colder, or when work gets scarce. But in a city like this, I don't get a slow season." He turned another page. "I asked you two to watch him because of this. I could have just put him with the Bible group again. I don't have time-"

"You've said that. Make time. He's still a child, he's running out of time just the same as the rest of us. Joel-" Harley motioned for him to approach. "Joel will help too, if that'll help you."

Jo grimaced at being volunteered, but he swaggered a few steps closer. "If it's for the kid, I'll do stuff for ya. I ain't good for much but running errands and lifting shit, but I can try."

"I'm sure we could call in Father Shalimar to mind the actual running of the shelter for a day. One day, Father." Harley wrung his hands again. "It'll make him so happy."

Steele's gaze narrowed to laser-hot slits that burned through the zeroes on his ledger, and he relented with a sigh. "If you can make our food budget work for the rest of the month... and if that one-" He indicated Jo with a jerk of his head- "can sort through our storage for shit we can sell... What did you have in mind?"

* * *

"Cascade Lake?!" Gage's voice cracked and died, his jaw agape, and he stumbled back like he would swoon. "Cascade- we're gonna-!" Harley caught him with both hands on his shoulders, and half-crouched to meet his eyes.

"Well, you see, we needed a car, and Father Steele's the only person we know with a car, so he's going to come with us."

Gage squealed incoherently, and bolted right back up to his room to dig out his swim trunks. With a few late nights spent in the church basement, Jo had found some old silver that Father Steele didn't recognize, and since it was older and in worse condition than any of them, it got pawned off. Harley had managed to stretch the limited food budget to last, and with a promise of hosting a bake sale before the start of the school year, Steele had agreed on a trip to a lake far outside of the city limits. When Jo and Harley showed up that morning, brighter and earlier than Jo ever liked rising to, in board shorts and tee-shirts, Gage nearly had a stroke from the excitement, and even as Harley retreated from Gage's door, they could still hear him shouting with glee. Jo rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a grin, and followed Gage up to his room to help him find his swim clothes. Fathers Shalimar and Steele had watched, Shalimar still in his cassock but Steele already wearing his collar and jeans instead, with Steele shaking his head and Shalimar suppressing a soft laugh.

"Cute little idiot." Shalimar elbowed Steele. "Try to enjoy it. You only have so many chances."

"Hmph." Steele shook his head. "I suppose someone has to enjoy things sometimes. God forbid either of us ever be happy."

Shalimar laughed under his breath, then waved Steele off. "I'll mind things here. You should enjoy your summer some, as well."

Steele glared at the wall, then rolled his eyes over to Shalimar. "Look at me, Rakesh. Do I look like I can enjoy summer like this?" He indicated the pale skin on the bottom of his arm, arm out, but Harley approached from behind and pressed a bottle of sunscreen into his open palm.

"That's what this is for. Go oil up. I'll get your back if you decide to take your shirt off." Steele took the bottle with a grumble under his breath and stalked away, and Harley shuffled a step back and away from Shalimar. "Father." He bobbed his head awkwardly, stiffly, and Shalimar rolled his eyes and seized the sleeve of Harley's shirt.

"I was rude before, the last I saw you." He bowed his head forward, then pushed some of his long, loose hair back away from his eyes. "You said your name was Harley?"

Harley's jaw hung just open, the way it did sometimes, before he snapped back into active thought with a smile. "Yes."

Shalimar seemed to consider, then took out his cell phone. "You remind me of someone I knew some time ago. I wonder if you and he share the same tastes in music, as, if I recall correctly, he and I had that in common." He flipped over to his device storage, and Harley took his cell phone out.

"I think I see what you're getting at, yes."

That was what Jo came back to when he finally found Gage's swim trunks: Father Steele rubbing lotion on his pale, hairless legs, and Father Shalimar and Harley sharing a pair of earbuds and an adapter cord, ignorant to the rest of the sanctuary. Father Shalimar was singing under his breath:

_"Grab your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground..."_

"That's weirdly appropriate." Jo chuckled, though he couldn't help but notice that Shalimar's voice was strangely high in tune. He glanced over to Steele, trying not to look at his legs (the dude seriously needed a tan and a couple hundred squats and lunges). "So, did I hear Harl say you had a car?"

Steele peeled Shalimar off of Harley ("He can show you how to download music without paying for it later. Also, that's theft, so I'll see you both in confessional.") and led them around the dawn-lit block, and Harley explained. "A young woman I knew..." He trailed off for a moment, and Jo nodded as he caught his meaning. "She volunteered at Shalimar's parish when Shalimar was still a deacon himself. Shalimar and his deacon, Hassan, run a shelter for abused women on the Northeast side of the quarter. Hassan is his only male employee; it's my understanding that they have known each other since before they both emigrated. But I would occasionally walk said young woman to her volunteer work on my way to my night classes, and occasionally retrieve her. Shalimar came to know me, and through conversations with previously mentioned young lady, learned that I was something of an indie rock enthusiast with technical knowledge. He had use of me, but we don't know each other any better than that." Harley smiled sheepishly. "Funny to say, Shalimar is much like our dear Father Steele in many regards, in terms of the extreme shyness-"

"That's enough, Harley." Steele whipped a set of keys from his pocket and stopped in front of a low car covered with a feather-gray protective tarp. The tarp was, in turn, decorated with dead leaves and bird droppings. Jo whistled.

"Oh, wow, when's the last time you took this thing out? 1985?" He snickered, and elbowed Gage. "Betcha this clunker's older than you are."

"It is," Gage agreed with a disarming grin, taking all the wind out of Jo's sails.

"So, uh, whatcha got?" He cocked his head forward as Steele dusted some of the leaves off. "Pinto? Ooh, maybe a classic army Jeep, right? General Steele and his brave, ironclad battalion?"

Steele rolled his eyes and yanked the tarp off. "Does this look like a Jeep to you?"

Jo couldn't come up with a comeback. Wasn't every day a man saw a classic, 1968 Mustang, and a car that pretty just sucks the words right out of you and blows them out its pretty little tailpipe. White, pristine, in perfect condition. Jo had never seen a car that nice- or expensive- outside of the parts traded through the repair shops. Steele pulled the hood back-  _holy shit the priest owns a classic convertible_ \- and vaulted into the passenger seat. "Harley, you're driving."

Jo remained speechless as Harley gracefully stepped down from the curb and into the driver's seat, and Gage hopped into the seat behind Harley and waved to Jo. "Let's go, we wanna get a good spot for our blanket!" Finally, he shook his head in disbelief.

"Man, can't believe I gotta ride bitch all the way out to the county!"

With the wind whipping his hair in red streams behind him, Jo settled back for his first ever convertible ride. They roared up the highway at the speed limit past the vacant Pepsi warehouse and the walls of the jailhouse until concrete barriers, decorated with spray paint murals warning about the perils of organized government and advertising just who needed to be arrested for vandalism, gave way to trees, green and tall, looming over the roadway but beckoning them forward. Steele had put in an AC/DC tape and blared it loud, tapping his toe discreetly in his footspace, as Gage lay his head on the seatback and smiled towards the distant blue sky with a comic book held up to the light. Once they pulled off the highway and off onto the county roads, surrounded by open fields of grasses and low trees and maybe the occasional horse, Jo got this weird feeling of being unchained. There was something right about the four of them being in this car together, and he felt like the world just fit.

He heard Harley's voice under the motor, though it was clearly meant for Father Steele. "I don't know why you haven't sold this yet."

Father Steele answered under his breath: "It was his last one. He wasn't finished with it, the rear windows still don't work. I'll sell it as soon as I find someone I trust enough to finish it." Jo didn't have to think too hard as to which 'he' Father Steele meant.

Cascade Lake was exactly what it sounded like- a lake, one with a beach. Steele had told Jo that it was an old quarry that had been filled in and turned into a park. The volleyball courts and grill stations all came along soon after, someone built a high dive dock in the deep water, and it had become a hot spot for summer gatherings for people in the western counties who couldn't make enough time to go down to the shore. Jo hated lumping himself in with pasty, boring suburbanites, even when it came to things like this, but as he caught the first whiff of sunscreen and charcoal grills, he figured that one day pretending he was a regular middle-class guy couldn't hurt.

Gage peeled off his shirt as soon as Harley laid the blanket out, kicked his flip flops off, and pivoted for the water's edge. "I'llbebackforlunch!" He took the first bound, but Steele caught him.

"You will sit down and get sunscreen first." He then turned to Jo and Harley. "Are either of you ready to go in with him?"

Harley and Jo answered at the same time: "I don't know how to swim."

"I can't swim." The two traded looks, as Steele scoffed and set his hands on his hips.

"Then one of you better learn, fast."

Jo volunteered to take Gage in once Harley had given him a thorough coating of sunscreen lotion, even though he would only wade in as far as he could keep his head above water. "But Jo, we've been in pools before!" Gage teased as he paddled past, and Jo rolled his eyes.

"City pools don't get deeper than five feet. I'm still head and shoulders out of the water."

"But I wanna do the high-dive!" Gage pointed at the jetty out in the middle of the water, and Jo grimaced at the dark blue surrounding it.

"You wanna keep me from drowning, kiddo?"

At that, Gage launched through the water and clung onto Jo's chest. "Of course I do."

Jo lost his balance and toppled over, and flailed in waist deep water with Gage weighing him down, and Gage, laughing, supported him until he could get up. He was rewarded for his efforts with a splash to the face, and the water fight was on. On the shore, Harley had set up beach chairs with Father Steele, and each had opened his preferred reading material- Harley had brought a novel, and Father Steele had several newspapers. Harley gave the stack of newsprint a raised eyebrow, and leaned behind the paper to catch Steele's eye around a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses with turtle charms on the legs.

"You know, I had hoped you would take the opportunity to enjoy some time with Gage that wasn't spent doing homework or scolding him."

"You make a lot of annoying assumptions," Steele grumbled back without returning the eye contact. Then, "Later. It looks like there'll be more cloud cover in the afternoon."

The sky did cloud over, just after lunch, and while Jo and Gage rested off their meal building sandcastles, Steele reapplied sunscreen to his pale legs and chest. Then, he grabbed Gage by the nape of his neck. "C'mon, Monkey. I'm going to show you how to do the high dive."

Gage was immediately reduced to a babbling rush of exhortations, praise and excitement. "WE'RE GONNA DO IT! WE'RE GONNA DO IT!" He jumped to his feet and bounced around Steele all the way to the water, to a soft giggle from Harley.

"They do make a pair, don't they?" He set his book against his chest, soft green eyes gleaming in the sunlight, and Jo chuckled and dusted his hair back.

"Hey, I give him shit, but I know he cares about the little brat."

"As do you. Jo, I wanted to thank you." Harley glanced out to the water, where Steele was demonstrating a surprisingly apt sidestroke for Gage. "I don't think I've seen Gage this happy- truly, really satisfied with life- since I met him. You..." Harley struggled, his hand falling over his stomach and folding his book closed. "You have... you're..." Harley seemed to deflate and give up, his mouth reducing to a small smile. "If it doesn't sound too forward, there really is something about you that makes our... our group whole. I'm... I'm terribly glad we met."

"Jeez, when you say it like that, it's like you think I'll go away." Jo chuckled and rose up, sand crumbling from his legs. "Hey, I'm thinkin' you're not actually gonna swim, but why don't you and me go play volleyball or something?"

"Do you know how to play volleyball?" Harley put his book on the seat of the chair and stood, as Jo grinned and shrugged.

"I watched it on TV during the Olympics. Mostly women's volleyball, but that's basically how dudes play, right? It looks fun, anyway." Harley laughed, but slipped his shoes on.

"I played in high school for physical education. I'll show you the basics." He stepped down onto the sand and towards the courts, and Jo eagerly followed.

"Awesome! Hey, show me how to do a spike! Just don't hit me in the face!"

That day was spent in complete peace under the watchful eyes of a sky bluer than light, and water that seemed to go on forever. Steele swam circles around Gage and showed off his swan dives and cannonballs, and Harley and Jo traded their company and unhesitant smiles over sand and the shouts around the net. For that day, they were nothing but happy.

Days don't last.

* * *

The next week, Jo went with Harley to pick Gage up for a trip to the library to work on Gage's homework, to find Gage sniffling at a breakfast table. Harley immediately sat down with him and took his hands. "Gage, what's happened?" Gage shook his head and pointed.

"Dad... Dad said..." Jo looked at the back of the room, where Gage was indicating, to Father Steele's office door. It was shut tight, and Jo grimaced.

"Where'd he hit you, kid?"

"Dad wouldn't do that!" Gage took a swat at Jo's shoulder, an ugly scowl taking place of his despondence, his teeth bared. Jo got a sting of shock right through the gut, and Gage calmed quickly back into sadness, his face falling as he smeared at his eyes. "He... he said not to go out today. He said it's not safe right now."

Harley frowned, and touched Jo's shoulder. "Stay here." He circled around past the table to the office, and knocked on the door.

"Piss off, monkey." Father Steele was nothing, if not marginally predictable. Harley opened the door anyway, and dodged the newspaper pitched at his head. Steele was slung heavily in his chair, and tilted a glowering eye at Harley. "What the fuck do you want?"

"To find out why Gage isn't allowed to leave the mission today." Harley folded his arms, a neutral facade replacing his habitual smile. Steele sneered, then dropped the newspaper in his hands and shoved it towards Harley. The headline read, plainly:

"Father Thomas O'Day Shot"

Harley scanned the article, detailing how the old priest was gunned down in a seemingly random act of violence just outside of his church doors, and Steele somberly shook his head. "Father O'Day was an old friend of the previous Father Steele, and a major figurehead in advocacy for victims of violence. Spent days in court every week, wringing the hands of witnesses. Helped put a lot of dangerous people away. He and I spoke rarely, but I considered him a friend." Steele slapped the paper, his fingers brushing a chart showing the jump in crime rates over the summer. "You've seen the numbers, you're not stupid. The more gangsters that get their records erased, the worse this city gets."

"And you think to protect Gage from all this?" Steele didn't respond, his chin dropping towards his chest. Harley shook his head and held his hands out. "Father."

"There will be no more excursions. Not until things cool off. I'd rather Gage be bored than shot."

"It was a random act, Father." Harley put his palms on the table, leaning in. "It could happen to anybody."

"It will not happen to Gage."

"We just want to go to the library. He needs to do his homework." Steele didn't life his eyes, stiffening in his chair.

"No further, and you will text me when you get there and when you leave." Steele turned away, picking up his ledger. "Get out. I have work to do."

Harley returned to the table and put his arms around Gage's shoulders. "It's going to be alright." Jo frowned as Gage melted against Harley's hug, and Harley shook his head. "He's just worried."

After Father Steele shut down their excursions, their summer of fun was over. It was just as well- Gage needed that last week before the start of school do to his homework, taking care of his summer reading and a few "readiness" projects given him by his IEP. Jo helped when Harley had to work, as best as he could, but he'd gotten his GED, so 7th grade was no big deal. Then, at the end of the week, Harley dropped the bomb over dinner:

"Zack says he's gotten a big project from the owner, and he's asked me to help pick up the slack for the projects he can't handle. I'm afraid I can't get away with our previous arrangement. I'm... I'm so terribly sorry." He hung his head, but Gage patted his shoulder.

"It's okay. This was only a summer thing anyway." He smiled, bright but tight, and Harley gradually matched him. "We had fun while it lasted, didn't we?"

They had, and the next week, Jo ran out of vacation time. He made sure to walk with Harley past the mission on their way to their respective workplaces, and they waved at Gage from the window. They shared smiles in the morning, and still saw each other at night, though Steele no longer let Gage come to their apartment. School started the week after Jo got back to work, and the dog days of August were swallowed by an early September heat wave.

They'd shared the best of the city for a peaceful summer, and though Jo had nothing to show for it but happy memories, it was enough. It just made cleaning the apartment while Harley was out grocery shopping all the easier, thinking back on the fun they'd had and the next time they'd get to go out again. It even kept him humming for Haku when they were alone.

" _Look out upon the myriad har-bo-o-our..._ " He smiled out the window as he pulled the vacuum past it, keeping the song low in his voice even as Haku kicked in with the instrumental break, and spoke aloud to himself under the hum of the machine. "Wonder when I can get them out again?" Then, it hit him.

It was September, and it'd be Harley's birthday soon. A world of possibilities opened their maw wide, and Jo grinned to himself as a thousand ideas came through his mind.

The city would be his, but this time, he would do it for Harley. This was Harley's happy place, and it was Jo's job to make it so, wasn't it? This was his chance to do for Harley everything he'd done for Gage and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jo teaches Haku is "Look Out Upon the Myriad Harbour," by The New Pornographers. The song Harley plays for Jo on his phone is "This Too Shall Pass," by OK Go. (Go look up the music video for that one, it's a Rube Goldberg demonstration and it's brilliant!) The song Father Shalimar is humming is "Devil's Spoke" by Laura Marling.


	13. Not a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo takes Harley out for his birthday on what is definitely not a date. Trouble is, he's more than a little nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter formally begins the second act. I warn you, this story does get, for lack of a better word, shippy. Mostly because I love our heroes and I want them to be happy, in particular with each other. Their friendship takes a new shape starting here, but it will take some flux to get there. Hope everyone enjoys the ride!
> 
> Also of note: Amazing reader LePetitErik has made a fanmix for this story! Given that both of our heroes love music, it's terribly appropriate, and I am just thrilled! Give it a listen, it's so great! https://8tracks.com/lepetiterik/staying-straight-part-1
> 
> Enjoy, everyone!

**13: Not a Date**

September 19th, that was the big day. It fell on a Friday this year, the weather was supposed to be clear, the moon would be a pretty little crescent in the sky, and Jo's best buddy in the entire universe was turning twenty-three. While Jo wanted to do something, as soon as he got past that first spark of inspiration, he realized he had no idea just what that was.

A summer spent making Gage smile only reflected onto Jo how little Harley smiled, or how little he meant it when he did, even as it subsided into a damp fall. Those scant moments when Harley slipped and really, truly, genuinely smiled, that was like an adrenaline shot to the soul, and Jo couldn't think of anything better. He knew Harley hadn't had any really close friends for a long time, and he'd lost the one good friend he had to unspeakable awfulness. Father Steele didn't count, since he was an iron wall, and while Gage was nice, he was still just a kid. It was on Jo, in his mind, to be the solid best buddy Harley needed. He wasn't sure what it was, but making people happy- especially Harley- was a good feeling. Better than sex, almost, because when he did something right and Harley was happy, Harley didn't look at him expecting more. Harley smiled, tempering his reactions with his usual deflection, but then he gave back, building Jo up with kind words and actions and god, it just snowballed back and forth and it was perfect.

Jo hadn't had a lot of friends when he was little, either. He was too busy in his own head that other people got pushed out. His only friend was Jack, and he hadn't been able to do anything for Jack.

And he didn't want to pry at those thoughts any further.

Bottom line, it was his job to give Harley the best birthday he'd ever had. He couldn't imagine what sort of parties he'd had in foster care- if they even did those- and he doubted there was much celebrating done in the state hospital. He didn't think Harley would want what he remembered birthday parties being from his childhood (that is, sitting around in his grade school classroom picking too-sweet frosting off of discount miniature cupcakes while the teacher goaded everyone to sing), nor what he saw other people do (that is, get smashed at Heavy Sands and vomit whatever overpriced chain restaurant junk they'd eaten off the dock), and he sure as hell wouldn't want to do what Jo usually did on his birthday now that he was out (that is, play poker, start a fistfight, and try for a threesome). Harley deserved better than any of that. All the ideas he had were boiling off in the last desperate grasp of summer at the cooling fall days, and whenever he was alone and thinking, it was wrestling with the few decent ideas he had.

And he had plenty of time to think. When the calendar page flipped from August to September, that simple turn unleashed clouds in swarms, flocking overhead like starlings, and it poured every other day. When it rained, Harley was quieter than usual, sinking into the shadows of the couch and somehow evading the light reflecting from the television, vanishing into the borders of his little green notebook. When it rained, Jo got much more ponder-y, and those thoughts that he always ignored or brushed off meandered back into his view like cataracts, and he had to think.

About what Harley looked like when he was smiling. About how much it sucked when Harley was upset. About how much he'd hate for Harley to get sick of him again.

Harley didn't seem to like rainy nights. Jo was liking them less and less, and he didn't even know what to do with rainy days.

"They're saying if it keeps up like this," Father Steele confided over the package of paper goods Jo handed off to him, "It'll be the wettest fall on record for Chance Harbor."

"Mm," Jo agreed under his breath, and glanced to the sanctuary window. The yellow diamonds of glass were streaked golden-brown as the rain ran heavily down against it, bubbling over the iron criss-cross of bars. Even with the fluorescent lights overhead, the sanctuary seemed dimmer than ever. It was actually kind of draining. He lamely held out the manifest and Steele snatched it out of his hands to scrawl his signature down.

"But that's no reason for a half-drowned rat to be making my delivery. Chin the fuck up, what's your problem?" Steele sneered. "Are you still moping about Harley's birthday?"

"Come on, Padre," Jo complained and dug his fingers into his hair. Nothing like a good old-fashioned insult to wipe away the gray. "You gotta clue in me. What do you think Harley wants for his birthday?"

"As far as I can tell, Harley doesn't care about his birthday." Steele threw the clipboard back at him, and Jo caught it against his breast with a huff.

"Well, it matters to me!" He followed Steele as he sulked back through the sanctuary to his office. "I mean, I figure he won't want some big party, he doesn't like people that much. I've never seen him drink, so I can't take him out bar-hopping. If we go to the Golden Monkey without Gage, I'll never hear the end of it!" Steele scoffed- or was it a snicker?- as Jo tugged his hair and went on, "I can't even give him cake, 'cause cake has milk in it, and I don't think they throw library parties, so what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Poetry slam?" Steele shrugged as he settled into his seat. Jo was about to come up with a quip comeback, raising a finger to wag, then froze cold and shook his hand in excitement.

"I'm gonna Google that. Thanks, Padre!" He bolted out, whooping, and Steele pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"Nitwit."

Jo waited until the evening to broach the idea, while walking Harley back from the shelter in the cooling evening air. Their conversation had been fallen into a lull, and Jo, not quite sure how to begin, let his mouth go without him: "So, listen, I was thinking. You said it was your birthday soon, yeah?" Harley didn't answer for a moment, as Jo skirted a puddle of lamplight then halted next to him under a "Don't Walk" sign.

"I... I did mention it, didn't I?" Harley managed a quaking smile and squeezed his hands where they were tucked into his pockets. "But you know-"

"I wanted to take you out to celebrate." Jo hooked his hand around Harley's elbow and splayed the other one across the cloud-curtained skyline. "Would ya like that? Or- what do you want?"

Harley paused again, his smile stiff. "What did you have in mind?" The light changed to "Walk," and Jo stepped into the crossing in tandem with Harley.

"I was thinking I'd take you to the Hydropower Plant. It's this old power plant along the canal that got turned into a club scene." Jo took a wrinkled printout from inside his jacket pocket and held it out in front of Harley to let it catch the streetlight from above. "It's awesome! It's got restaurants and clubs and shopping. I'll take you to whatever restaurant you like, my treat, we can do some window shopping if you like, and then, there's this hipster joint in there that does poetry readings, and maybe we could hang out a little while, 'cause I know you like poetry." Jo paused, as Harley's expression went unreadable. "Does... does that sound okay? I mean, if you know what you want-"

"- Actually, that sounds nice." Harley broke into a smile anew, and Jo's heart warmed like the sun had decided to peek back up just to fire a ray at him. "I've never really celebrated my birthday before."

"Well, hey, never a better time to start than right now!" Jo grinned and squeezed Harley's shoulder. "C'mon, man, we'll have an awesome time!" Harley still looked a little puzzled, but more than a little pleased.

"I suppose it's a date?"

"Hell yeah, dude! This is gonna be the best, just you wait and see!" Jo jogged a step ahead, then slowed down as Harley giggled at his excitement. All according to plan, Harley was happy already.

* * *

The plans came together bit by bit, over tiny conversations at breakfast, lunch, and dinner:

"We'll meet up after work," Harley suggested, as Jo swallowed a bite of toast.

"Eh, give me like half an hour, I'd like a shower if we're going out on the town."

As they waited for Harley's microwave to finish heating up their lunch, Harley showed him the brochure again. "What about this restaurant?" He pointed at a tapas restaurant, and then took a printout of a menu from his printer and laid it down in front of Jo. Jo glanced over it, but the microwave dinged and Harley ducked down to get his plate for him. Jo ran his eyes down the names and price list, then shrugged.

"If it looks good to you, it's fantastic for me. I'll eat anything, you know that."

Harley giggled and put Jo's plate in front of him. "As long as you enjoy it. What about reservations?"

"I'll make 'em for seven. Gives us a chance to wander around, yeah?"

Harley put away the board games at the shelter for the evening with his lips pursed, and tapped Jo's shoulder. "I just thought of something- how will we get to the venue?"

"You mean for Friday?" Jo scratched his chin. "I'll, uh, I'll check the bus schedule. I'll figure out something." He turned back and gave Harley a squeeze on the shoulder. "Don't you worry about it, I've got it covered. It's gonna be great, okay?"

Harley took him at his word, and now Jo was the one worrying about it. He kept wondering what could go wrong, and it was eating at his bones. He felt like whenever something was really important, something went terribly wrong, like waking up with a zit before prom night or missing the bus on Valentine's Day. God couldn't just be chill and let nice things happen, not to a loser like him, and as the big day came closer, it snowballed from a nagging sensation in the pit of his gut to a full-on tug on his brainstem.

On the day of, he found himself trying not to think about it (and failing) on his lunch break, loitering on the back steps of the mission and smoking a cigarette as he picked at the brown-bag lunch Harley had made for him. He was somehow busier tugging at his hair. The sky was smoky again, clearly making threats, but the air wasn't heavy enough, except in the vicinity of Jo.

"Last we talked," Steele rumbled from the door behind Jo, and Jo felt his back arch, because he'd been so stuck in his own head, he hadn't heard him come out. "I was saying it'd be the rainiest fall on record. I was wrong."

"Big surprise."

"Combined with the storms we had in spring, it's looking like a record year for rainfall." Jo heard the  _snick_  and hiss of Steele's lighter, and didn't lift his head from where he slouched. "And yet it's dry today, so you have no reason to wring your hair out." He then whacked Jo on the shoulder with his newspaper. "Stop that. You want to go bald?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jo clenched his fist against his scalp. "Newsflash, Padre, even if I go as bald as you, I'm still too good-looking for folks to mix us up."

Steele scowled, touched his hair, then gave Jo another whap with the newspaper. "What, don't tell me you're nervous about your date."

Jo snapped a hand out and whacked the paper out of Steele's hand. "It's not a date, asshole! Look, it's just..." He kicked his feet, then crossed them under him. "Harley's the nicest guy I know, y'know? And he's the only real friend I've really got. He told me he's never celebrated his birthday, and I don't think he's had a lot of nice things happen to him." Jo scratched his head again, and slouched, his chest over his knees. "I want him to have nice shit happen to him. I talked it up so much, but if I fuck it up, then maybe he won't believe I can do nice stuff." He rested his elbows on his knees and set his chin in his palms, as Father Steele scrutinized him from toe to tip. "Shit, what if I fuck up real bad and he decides to leave or something?" He groaned to himself, until he realized Steele had fixed him with the stinkeye. "What?"

"Since when were you such a spineless child?" Steele cuffed him over the head over Jo's loud protests ("Don't call me a kid, you fucking prick!"), then strode past him to pick his newspaper up from the stretch of sunlight it had landed in on the sidewalk. "Life isn't that interesting. So long as you don't do anything risky or stupid, you'll be fine." He then took a seat next to Jo on the steps and reached into an inner pocket in his cassock. "Look, take this." He pushed a metal flask into the crook of Jo's arm, and Jo gaped at it.

"Holy shit, Padre-"

"Don't give me shit. I hate public speaking." Steele stood up, folding his arms as he came to rights. "I put a few drops in the glass of water I keep on the altar to steady my nerves. If you get anxious, take a sip. The only way you're going to fuck this up is by overthinking it and trying too hard." He folded his arms, scowling down at him, and granted Jo a gracious piece of priestly wisdom: "Harley will enjoy his date with you because it's you. Don't worry about it any more than that."

"Ha." Jo took a sniff of the flask, and  _oh_ , that was strong. "Thanks." He put it in his jacket. "I'll keep that in mind." He got up and tilted his bike off of the curb with one hand, kicked the kickstand back, then froze all at once when he fully realized what Steele had said, and whipped around to where the Father had trudged back to the door. "And it's not a date, asshole!"

Jo rode by Extreme Dataflow at closing time, but found Zack still at the desk and the upstairs light off. Zack had his laptop open and his fingers flying over the keys, his eyes not moving from the screen as the bell over the door chimed. Jo actually waited, tiptoeing sideways around the desk to get a view of the screen, but the second he got to Zack's shoulder, his boot scuffed Zack's stool and Zack jumped at the noise. "Holy shit, dude!" He spun the laptop screen away, grinning madly. "Don't do that shit, man, I got serious stuff goin' on here?"

"Yeah?" Jo raised his eyebrows. "Izzat that big project your boss gave ya?"

"Yeah, man, it's something for one of her other companies." Zack glanced back to his laptop with a proud smirk. "She says she can only trust me to do it. I knew someone'd recognize my talents one'a these days!" He shook his hair back, cocking his shoulders back and lifting his hands. "She even says she'll give me some sorta bonus if I get it done quick. S'why I'm here and not knocking off for a couple appletinis with the chickies." He turned his chair to face his laptop screen again. "What brings you in this late?" Zack snorted through his nose, a broad grin crossing his face. "Need me to upgrade your phone or something?"

"Lookin' for Harl, shit-for-brains, you think I'd leave you anything of mine?" Jo put his hands on his hips. "It's his birthday. I'm takin' him out."

"Ooh, a date?" Zack sniggered and made a fish face, and Jo stomped his foot.

"For fuck's sake, it ain't a date! Ain't a dude allowed to just go be bros with his buddy and not have guys think he's a fag?"

"Christ, dude, Denial ain't just a shitty movie." Zack snickered and snorted in the same breath, but continued to type. "Harl left for the night, cut out a few minutes early. Said he was going to visit with some kid he tutors, and then- oh, yeah, he did say he was going to meet up with you at your place."

"Did he say when?"

"Nope." Zack kept working without looking up, squinting at the data on the screen. "Jesus Christ, Genie, you gave me one hell of a fun one..."

"Genie? Your boss?" Jo raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help but imagine a blue lady without a shirt on. Zack snorted.

"Yeah- oh shit!" Zack snapped his fingers and spun around. "You! You wanna make a little money?"

"Fuck yeah, but it better not involve any fuckin'  _illusions_." Jo waggled his fingers and rolled his eyes. Zack rolled his right back.

"Nah, man, the boss lady says she needs a courier this weekend, and wanted to know if I knew anyone. You do weekend stuff, right?" Zack cocked an eyebrow and pointed at Jo like a pistol.

"Oh, yeah. Just gotta call, and we charge overtime."

"She says cost ain't no object. Mind if I give her your number?" Zack grinned. "She's loaded, dude, probably tip ya real nice."

"Oh, hell yeah!" Jo grabbed a bit of scrap paper and a pen and scrawled his phone number down, but just then, his phone buzzed with a short guitar riff. Jo yanked it out to check the message. "That's him," Jo announced, more to himself than Zack, and a warm smile colored his face and heated his features. "He'll meet me at six. Good. I better get home and get a shower." Zack glanced up, and guffawed.

"Dude, you're redder than your fucking hair."

"Shut the fuck up. Good luck with your project or whatever." Jo scraped his hair in front of his face, then back, and strode out of the shop. Zack kept working, and Jo could still see the white light of the screen reflected in his eyes and his broad, crazed grin as he jumped back on his bike and turned his wheels for home.

He rode back to the office first to pick up a special surprise for Harley, then back to the apartment. Harley wasn't there yet, but Jo dodged right into the shower. Despite Steele's reassurance, his confidence was more than a little shaky, and it was making his stomach a lot shaky. Even the water running down his back and through his hair wouldn't cool him off. He stepped out of the stream and didn't even bother toweling himself off before going for his jacket where he'd dropped it while disrobing and taking out the flask Steele had given him. He opened it and gave it a test sniff first, then took a sip. It was stronger than it smelled, flavorless but like fire on his tongue. "Shit, you could disinfect Mercy's dick with that stuff," he muttered, and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. The alcohol burned all the way down, but as he dressed and dried his hair our and the fire settled in his stomach, the buzz that radiated through his head settled the rest of him.

It made it a whole lot easier to grin for Harley when he opened the door, and he flung himself up to his feet. "Hey, man, you ready?" Harley matched Jo's smile with a serene quirk of the lips and set his shoulder bag down.

"If you'll allow me a moment to refresh myself, yes." Harley dabbed at his forehead with a tissue, then straightened his collar. "Are you?"

"Hey, do I look ready, or what?" Jo gestured to himself. He'd gotten a button-up shirt- black, yes, but no holes, no stains- and had even folded his favorite jeans after taking them out of the dryer so they'd have that nice, crisp look that Harley seemed to relish in all of his clothes. No tie, unless Harley put one on, but he figured he still looked pretty sharp. He'd have to bust this one out for his next date. (It had been a while, hadn't it? He'd have to impress the next chick who wanted to actually go somewhere with him.) Still, Harley nodded as he perused his outfit, that little smile of his indicating nothing short of complete approval.

"You look very ready. I'll just be a moment." He vanished into the bathroom, and Jo scrambled right back for the flask in his jacket for another little sip. Something about the warm smile Harley was wearing and the way it spread to his eyes was making Jo's stomach do flips.

Harley returned with his face scrubbed to pink and smelling of tea tree soap, his cuffs half-rolled and his shirt untucked. Jo, with his jacket heavy against his side, led the two of them back out of the apartment building, down the stairs and to the street, where Jo had left his surprise for Harley chained to a parking meter. He jogged a few steps ahead to spread a hand out to his bike and mock-bowed. "Your chariot, sir."

"Why, Joel, you..." Harley's eyebrows puzzled for a moment, and he realized that the basket on the back of Jo's bike had been replaced with a flat seat. Jo unchained the bike with a grin.

"Tolja I'd take care of getting there and back. See, bike for two! This way, we don't have to worry about the bus schedule, and we can stay out as late as we want." He wheeled the bike towards Harley. "Sounds like a pretty good idea, right?"

"It does," Harley granted with a smile, and tested the seat with his hand. "Except you only have one helmet."

"Eh, don't worry about that." Jo took the helmet off the handlebars and strapped it onto Harley's head. Harley's eyes went wide as he fastened the chinstrap and tightened the side straps. "If I die, it's my own stupid fault, right? You're the birthday boy, I wanna be sure you see the next one." Jo's heart raced as Harley's expression stuck, and he gave his cheek a light tap. "Hey, quit makin' that face. With your glasses, and the helmet on, you look like an alien or something."

"I... I'm sorry, it's just... strange." Harley cast his eyes down and fiddled his fingers together. Jo was about to ask what he meant, until Harley tapped his head. "I'd rather you not die, either."

"I'll be real careful. Scout's honor." He decided not to mention he'd never been a Boy Scout, but mounted the bike. "Okay, sit like you're gonna ride a bike, put your feet on the bars sticking out from the rear wheels, and hold on tight."

Harley hopped on behind him, the bike not even bouncing under their combined weight, and, as Jo kicked off the sidewalk, wrapped his arms around his waist. He held on tight as Jo pedaled up Adams Street towards the western side of the quarter, and something hit Jo as he zipped along, passing by streetlights as they came to life around them and cars headed anywhere but at him. He sort of really liked this feeling. He liked Harley trusting him, depending on him. Harley wanted him, and maybe even needed him, and Jo couldn't think of anyone who'd really just wanted him around like Harley did. Maybe he didn't have to prove to Harley just how much their friendship meant to him. Didn't mean he wasn't going to do it. Tonight had to be perfect.

The sky had cleared a little, the clouds pulling back and highlighted peach pink and lavender in the echoes of daylight. The Business District came into view when they crested past Second and turned towards Jefferson. The sun was just sinking beneath the skyline, and the buildings were illuminated in long grids of multicolored lights that twinkled like stars against the indigo sky. Jo put his foot down at a red light to point it out to Harley. "Pretty amazing, all lit up, ain't it?" He had to speak a little louder to be heard over the low growl of cars around them and the anonymous babble of radios and other passersby. Harley hummed, and Jo nodded to the tableau before them. "Even this piece of shit city's got a good side."

"So it does," Harley agreed into Jo's ear, sounding like he was speaking to him intimately. "Of course it does. But it has nothing to do with neon lights or gleaming buildings. So many wonderful things. So many wonderful people. I don't think I'd be happy anywhere else, with anyone else."

The light turned green, Harley sat back and held tight, and as Jo sped off across the asphalt again, it came to him that he agreed. He wouldn't be as happy as he was without Harley around. He didn't even realize just how lonely he was until he wasn't anymore. He tried not to think about all of it, because it actually made his head hurt. He tried to think about dinner or the show, then only about the bottle inside of his jacket pocket.

The Hydropower Plant was in the northwestern corner of the Shangri-La quarter, just on the divide of Little Shangri-La and the business district. The front gates were preceded by a circle for taxi drop-offs and pick-ups, maybe even for limos for fancier parties, but there was no parking garage. Harley hopped off first to check with the security guard where he could chain the bike, and Jo held the helmet, used his leg as kickstand and waited. The temptation crept up through him, and he nabbed the bottle out again and took another swallow. Harley returned just as he stuffed it away. "He said that there's a bike rack along the left side of the entrance." Harley frowned as Jo guiltily pinned his hand to his thigh and away from his pockets. "What was that?"

"Needed a little water." Jo cleared his throat, then coughed. "Let's lock this puppy up."

With the bike chained and the helmet straps tangled through the support bars, Harley and Jo returned to the front gate. The Plant was built into the canal, with bridges crossing the two sides of the ink-black waterway and all the clubs and restaurants built into the old factory spaces. With gleaming, twinkling Christmas lights wound around the iron gates and fences, strings of multicolored lanterns across the water and live music being played on open patios, it was more like a midway than a mall. Jo hung close at Harley's side as they passed through the security gates, and the security guard patted both of them down for weapons. Jo thanked whatever god there was that the flask sat close against him, even as Harley turned his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans to show he was (for all the guards knew) harmless. Jo wasn't even sure the security guard had asked him for it. Still, as checkered as they were, they faded into the crowd of girls in short skirts and jelly bracelets and men wearing skinny jeans and gauged piercings, through the gate and down the stairs, the beats of their footsteps fading into the rush of a busy Friday night at the Hydropower Plant.

Tapas, as it turned out, were awesome. The two of them were seated on a deck extending over the water, red paper lanterns casting espresso-colored tables and everything on them with a warm glow, and there was a thin hum of happiness running through the air like a current off of a running motor. Jo had made sure to win big at poker earlier in the week, and ordered up everything that looked good. Chicken, ham, and cheese croquettes, fried eggplant batonettes (so the menu said, but they just looked like fries to Jo) with a creamy, spicy cheese sauce, prosciutto wrapped around herbed olives, weird and wonderful combinations Jo, for all his extensive knowledge of ramen brands, would never have thought of all served in tiny portions so you could order a bunch to share. Jo ordered a mojito and offered to order Harley one. "They're minty," he beckoned with a devilish grin, but Harley giggled and held up a resistant hand.

"I'm afraid I don't like alcohol." He rubbed his chin, bashfully hiding his cheeks from looking even redder under the lights. "My... my medicine, it has a strange effect with alcohol. I don't get drunk. I tried to drink once, but I didn't feel anything until I woke the next morning with a sour stomach." He lifted both hands, a cheerful smile not quite hiding the embarrassment in his red cheeks and locked knees. "Minor sacrifices, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Jo agreed quickly, then thrust the menu towards him a little harder than he meant to. "Hey, why don't we try the lamb chops? I don't think I've ever had lamb before."

"I'm almost certain you'll love it," Harley agreed, taking the brisk subject change as easily as water and with only a small shift in his smile.

Jo drank his mojito quickly. He also slipped in another sip or two from the flask when Harley excused himself to the bathroom, all while silently berating himself: Made him talk about his screwed up brain. Slick move, dumbass.

Jo was certain he'd never seen Harley empty a plate before, let alone three, but when they were so small, it was easy, and he left the restaurant with a contented smile. "That was delightful. I'll have to look up similar recipes later."

"Damn right," Jo agreed, and caught himself as he stepped a little wide and half-stumbled. "So, ah, where to next?"

"I thought you had something in mind." Harley raised an eyebrow, though he hadn't stopped smiling. Jo still swallowed hard.

"Well, uh, the poetry thing's not until like nine, and it's..." He checked his phone. "Quarter after eight, so we got a little time to kill. Wanna check the directory?" He gestured to a sign just visible through the roving crowd of revelers, and Harley nodded and started to sift his way through moving bodies towards it.

Jo took another swig from the flask and followed behind.

They ended up at a gastropub with a video arcade, and Harley ushered Jo to a table where the consoles linked to the quiz show on one of the big screens. "I've always wanted to try one of these. You don't mind, do you?"

"Nawh, not even a little. Don't know how much help I'll be, though." Jo chuckled, and squinted at the screen. Weird, he'd thought his long-distance vision was pretty good. He scraped at them, trying to smear the fuzz out, as Harley dove for the buzzer to put the first answer in.

They sat there together for a while, Harley drinking pomegranate iced tea and buzzing in correct on most of the questions, only looking to Jo for the sports trivia or light conversation. Jo, meanwhile, guzzled his way through a Long Island iced tea and mixed up the baseball and football teams. "Why they gotta both be birds?" He laughed uselessly as the timer ran out, slapping a boneless hand over his head. "I mean, y'got the Birds for baseball, then the Condors for football, and then the Wings for soccer, how th' fuck'm I s'pposed to keep 'em straight?"

"They were asking about the Detroit Tigers," Harley pointed out as the correct answer illuminated in bright orange against the navy projection. "Are you quite alright?" He bobbed his head down, his smile gone and replaced with knit eyebrows and tension in the flat line of his lips. Jo's brain was running slow, so it took a second for him to nod.

"Yeah, of course. S'just a little warm in here, is all." He fanned himself for emphasis, then hopped down off of his stool. "I'm gonna get some water."

Harley frowned as Jo stumbled on the landing, only catching himself from doubling over with a hand planted on the table. "Perhaps slow down on the alcohol."

"Pssh, m'fine. I've had like two." Jo put his hand up in a swear. "I won't have anymore, I'm good."

He could feel the alcohol buzzing through him in his every half-steady step. Maybe he'd had a little too much, or a little too fast, but hell, why was he still so nervous? Wasn't it supposed to help him forget, or at least keep him steady? He found a water fountain by the restroom and took a long swill, then splashed water over his face. His hand immediately went for the flask in his jacket, and he took one more sip then chased it with another gulp of water. Anything to stop the shaking. He couldn't let his own stupidity ruin Harley's night.

"Steele's magic potion is bullshit," he decided under his breath, shaking his head to clear the fog setting in on his vision, and returned to the table. Harley had emptied his drink and was wiping the table down.

He greeted Jo with a smile- okay, two smiles- focus, idiot, only one- and held out a red Solo cup filled with water. "Here, you're looking a bit hazy. Why don't we go to the coffee shop? The fresh air and some caffeine might help."

It took effort for Jo to make himself sound sober. "Sounds awesome." He winked. "But ain't I supposed to be your host for the night?"

"Oh," Harley started, then trailed off with a soft laugh. "I suppose I can't help myself." He waited for Jo to drink some more of the water, those green eyes still clear through the haze of inebriation and focused on him.

There was this weird sensation of ants creeping through Jo's gut and across his bones, itching and nagging and sending tiny shivers through him with each set of syncopated footfalls, and it was bleeding through the alcohol the longer he maintained eye contact. Jo drained the cup and shook his hair out. "Well, hey, I'm game for a cappuccino or something." He took a few steps, leading Harley, and grimaced as he felt just how unsteady his feet were.

Jesus God, let that fuzzy feeling stay out of his head just a little longer.

The stringed lights seemed to waver overhead as Jo led Harley through the crowd and to the coffeehouse, and people seemed to move without actually moving. Everything wiggled like he was seeing it through a heat mirage, burning off the street like water on a yellow-sun afternoon into shimmering spirals of steam as he approached. Everything in his view also seemed to be tilting back and forth, or nodding up and down, and it was making him dizzy. He was also starting to get funny ideas, like wondering how much fun it would be to jump off the bridge into the canal. It was only the vague knowledge, popping through his mind like a bubble out of his own drowning common sense, that Harley couldn't swim that kept his feet dry. He was a little drunk, and he knew it. He caught himself stumbling, and cringed on the inside. His head was clear enough to know he was drunk, but not enough that he could do much about it. Ain't that always the way?

The coffee shop was cool and dark, low white lights on iron bar fixtures across the ceiling lighting the stage and the coffee bar itself with clean light that didn't burn Jo's aching eyes. The microphone was set up, but nobody was behind it yet, and the only noise was a soft, gentle whisper of private conversations and a faint hum of feedback. Harley headed for an empty booth near the back, Jo nodded towards the front.

"You like bein' able to see, right?" He managed a sloppy grin, and ushered him to an empty table for two. "I know your eyes ain't so hot, but it helps if you're close."

"I would think you'd want to sit at the back. Your head must be pounding." Harley sat nonetheless, puzzling as Jo stood over him, unable to wipe the stupid smile from his cheeks.

"Hey, this ain't-" Jo felt himself drooling, and made his jaw shut to control it. "This ain't 'bout me, man. This is for you."

"Oh, Joel." Harley put a hand over his wrist, and Jo was suddenly very conscious of the heat in his cheeks as Harley stood up and pushed on his shoulders. "Sit, let me get you a coffee."

"Black, please," Jo mumbled, and slumped down into the seat as Harley hurried away. This was getting embarrassing. Harley had to be embarrassed, and why should Harley even like an embarrassment like him. He almost snorted at the word embarrassment as it echoed in his mind, because the longer it sat there, the less real it felt. Em-bare-ass-mint. Okay, he actually did laugh out loud at it a little. Yeah, that was a funny word. A funny, terrible word, kind of like him. He was just terrible. He yanked the flask out and drank, the liquid already dry on his sandpaper tongue. He slouched deeper as he shoved it away, and in the same breath, tried to shove back those crazy thoughts that always came around when his mind got quiet.

Then, Harley was back, shining bright against the white lights and smiling down at him. "Here." He put the cup into Jo's hand, and smiled. Jo's cheeks felt hot again, his head and hand followed. Harley's smile was so nice. Jo liked that smile. This was a good Harley smile. Jo had no idea why Harley was smiling the happy-clown smile, but God did he love that smile. Harley ducked into his seat with a mug of his own, but Jo couldn't tell what it was, and poured himself into the coffee under his nose, strong and bitter but not too hot. "I asked, and it turns out that tonight's an open mic night."

"That sounds awesome." Jo grinned over his coffee, and Harley smiled back.

"Do you..." He traced the rim of his cup with his finger, eyes dropping away, knees tight under the table, but Jo wasn't reading body language, only lips. "Do you think it'd be alright if I read?"

"Pfft!" Jo couldn't stop the stupid noise. "Dude, you should totally read. Do it, yeah!" He chuckled, and clumsily dug out his cellphone. "I'll film it, and everything, so you can show the Padre and the monkey. Do it, dude, it'll be so awesome, you can be, like, the star of your birthday!" Jo flailed his arms out, then brought them in to form a frame around Harley's face with his index fingers and thumbs. "It'll be awesome, man."

"If you're sure." Harley touched Jo's wrist. "Drink your coffee. You should sober up soon." Jo vaguely heard Harley saying something about 'only two drinks,' and felt his cool hand and dry fingers on his forehead. Jesus, that felt nice. Then, Jo couldn't see Harley.

No, Harley, don't go...

There was a loud buzz, and Jo squinted to see a thin man with a scraggly goatee standing at the microphone. He was talking, but Jo couldn't make out what he was saying. The noise boomed around his head, nothing but the roar of cars in his ears and screeching tires. Jo felt the shaking in his stomach now, and he couldn't see the first person step to the microphone with her paper in hand to nervously stutter her way through a poem with a quick beat. Jo couldn't hear her. It was all just light and noise and darkness and  _noise_  and that shaking feeling in his belly that  _wouldn't fucking go away_. Even as the girl's voice faded out, Jo was still hearing shrieking and shouting. Where was Harley? Where the hell was Harley? He was going to get killed, and where would that leave him?

"Is it... can you make it any louder?"

Harley. There he was. Shining on the stage, smiling into the microphone and right at Jo like a goddamn angel from the stained glass windows in the chapel. His little green notebook was open in his hand, and as the lights shone bright on him, the rest of the dark room went black. There was nothing but Harley's moving mouth, his eyes batting nervously, and his timid stammer in the speakers: "I've written this... it's, ah... They call it staying straight..."

Harley went black. The lights were gone. Jo felt his head hit something hard, heard Harley shout his name, and knew nothing more.

* * *

Harley barely had the sense of mind to shove his notebook into his back pocket as he jumped off the low stage and right to the table, where Jo now slumped, face-down, his coffee spilled all over his sleeves. Jo didn't even react to the lukewarm coffee soaking him, far too far gone. A few other patrons surrounded them, muttering as Harley took Jo's pulse and checked his eyes. "He's just passed out." He sighed with deep relief, and looked around him. "I'm so sorry about this, I'll call him a cab. Can someone help me?"

A few of the other poets and hipsters helped clear a path, and Harley worked Jo up onto his shoulder and the shoulder of a generous security guard. Jo had halfway come to, and groggily stumbled at Harley's side. "There, there," he murmured against Jo's ear and through his hair, knowing it wasn't heard and that the words meant nothing, but it made him feel better. He strained to lift Jo a bit higher, then felt something solid and squarish in the pocket of Jo's jacket.

The security guard lowered Jo down on a bench on the outside circle of the Plant and left them there, and Harley phoned a cab. Then, when it was just the two of them and the distant roar of cars on the highways, he moved Jo's jacket aside with delicate motions and worked it off of his arms, as if Jo were something fragile, wrung some of the coffee from the sleeves, and reached into the inner pocket to find the flask. "Oh, Joel." He opened the flask, only to find it was empty, then ran his finger inside the rim and tasted the pad of his finger. "Oh, goodness, that's nearly paint thinner." He coughed at the taste, and brushed a few strands of damp, sweat-soaked hair from Jo's clammy forehead. "Did you drink all of that? Silly man, why?"

An orange cab decorated with black and white checkers slid to a stop in front of them, and Harley waved to the cab driver and patted the still-limp Jo's back. The cab driver nodded understanding and stepped out to help Harley move Jo into the passenger's seat. "Thank you kindly, but I'm afraid I can't ride with him." Harley moved Jo's legs in and tilted his head back. "We took his bike here, I'm going to take it home for him. He needs it for work."

"Gotcha," the driver agreed, grinding his teeth and folding his arms. "Hell, with the lights, you might even beat me."

"I should hope I beat you there, he's going to need help to get up all those stairs." Harley reached into his wallet. "Would you mind telling me the cost to get him to Ninth and Madison?"

As the driver calculated the fare, Harley leaned down over Jo again. His eyes, bleary and wet but the dark irises clearing, focused on Harley's face and mouth. "I'll see you at home, Joel. We can talk in the morning."

"N..." Jo's mouth worked lazily, then formed slow, groggy words: "No... don't... don't go..."

"It'll only be twenty minutes." Harley pushed Jo's bangs back behind his face and wiped the spittle from his lips. "Just shut your eyes, it'll be like I was never gone."

"No!" Jo was suddenly awake and moving, grabbing at Harley's collar and sleeves, and shrieking in panic Harley had never heard from him before. "No! Don't go! Don't leave me!" Harley caught him as Jo, wide-eyed and trembling, pulled frantically at Harley. "Don't! Jack! Jackie! Please!"

Harley threw his arms around Jo and held him tight. "Joel! It's alright!" Jo kept whispering 'Jack' over Harley's shoulder, shaking his head, and Harley squeezed. "I'm Harley, yes? Just twenty minutes, and I'll be back. Not Jack, Joel. Harley." Jo flailed a moment longer, then fell limp against him again, still whimpering in his sleep. "Twenty minutes," Harley whispered into his ear, and gently lowered him back down into the seat. "You'll see me again." Joel remained unconscious and silent, and Harley snapped his seat belt in and stepped back, dusting his sleeves off and picking thread off of his shirt. The cab driver had watched the exchange with mute, wide-eyed fixation. Harley, without a word of explanation, offered another twenty dollar bill. "I'm so sorry."

The night was over, and the clouds that had cleared for the evening were starting to roll back in. Harley found himself alone with the city and his thoughts, watching the storm's approach. "I do hope it doesn't rain," he murmured to himself, but the clouds wouldn't clear. Just as well. For a night that was meant to be full of hidden delights, Harley knew he'd come onto something deeply hidden, and it loomed over him as he made his way back.


	14. You Are Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo has to tell Harley who Jack is. Harley has something else to tell Joel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 8/5, everyone! ... I throw the worst celebrations.
> 
> The rating's gone up. I waffled on it for a while, because I wasn't quite sure how this event would play out when I planned it, but the way this chapter came out basically made it unavoidable.
> 
> Fair warning, guys- things get a lot darker in this chapter. As much as I want our heroes to be happy, they've got some journey left to go. 
> 
> This chapter contains references to canon-typical child abuse and canon-typical incest. Yes, it's Jo's childhood. I will also warn now that revoked/dubious consent comes up in this chapter. It's very much a "point-of-view" thing, but it's best to warn you all now so that you can be prepared or back out now. Sorry, guys.

**14: You Are Wanted**

His eyes had been glued shut with quicksand. That's sure as hell what it felt like trying to open them. Jo forced his eyelids to peel back to the night-shaded ceiling of his apartment, and licked his dry, cracked lips. His head was already sore, and when his arm fell off the side of whatever flat surface he'd been left on, he found the garbage pail from the bathroom moved next to him. He remembered being in jeans and a cotton shirt, but somehow, he was in his boxer shorts and a tank top. Rain was drumming softly against the window, but the stoplight from the intersection was shining red over everything, making it that much harder to put together where he was. Still, it came back to him.

He was in the bed he hadn't slept in since he'd brought Harley home, and Harley was standing in the darkened kitchen in his striped pajamas, stirring something into a mug. "Please don't try to get up." Harley returned with the mug and sat in a kitchen chair moved next to his bed. "I had thought you were about to rouse when you started to talk in your sleep."

"Shit," Jo scraped at his eyes, more to avoid having to look at Harley than from the quicksand still stubbornly stuck in his eyelashes. His head sloshed as he tried to shake it out. "Nothing stupid?"

Harley didn't answer until he'd given Jo the mug- smelled like cinnamon and spice- and Jo had taken a long swig. "I'd like you to define 'stupid,' Joel." Jo winced, but took another sip. He was feeling a little more sober with every breath, though he wasn't really there yet. Harley held a closed hand out, fingers down, and Jo opened his, palm up, to let Harley pour two aspirin into his open palm. "You do talk in your sleep, though rarely," Harley admitted. "Usually, it's nothing cogent. Tonight, it was." Harley's smile seemed flat, not quite reaching the rest of him. "I consider myself fortunate to have heard it."

"Why're you even awake? What time is it?"

"Just after three, but I struggle to sleep on rainy nights as it is." Harley nodded to the gleaming beads of water trailing down the window. "Besides, I've been concerned that you may have given yourself alcohol poisoning."

The events of the night flooded back through Jo, right up to passing out, and his stomach turned. He swallowed hard, and wiped his mouth, hugging his gut and cringing. "Fuck. How mad are you?"

"Not at all." Harley patted Jo's shoulder, but Jo shuddered.

"Shit, you're lying. I ruined your birthday." He brought a fist down onto his thigh. "I'm such a fucking ass."

"Joel, in spite of this hiccup, I had a fantastic time." Harley rubbed Jo's hand, and squeezed. "We had a lovely dinner, the atmosphere was delightful. I even got to ride your bike." His smile spread, just touching the corners of his eyes. "It was thrilling."

"You... you mean that?" Jo's lips twitched, and his face fell. "I... I guess, if you say so." He set the mug down behind him and moved to push himself out of the bed, but Harley pinned his wrist and moved to sit on the bed in front of him.

"Joel, who is Jack?"

Jo froze up, his spine going straight all at once, and he pulled his legs in under him to give Harley space. "Uh. Jack, huh? What, was I-"

"Saying his name in your sleep, and earlier." Harley's expression matched his eyes now, brow and lips straight and even: serious, but not angry. It was still heavier than Jo wanted to try to lift just now.

"Huh." Jo scratched his head and ducked Harley's gaze. "I... I think I know a couple Jacks. S'a pretty common name-"

"This is a specific Jack, Joel." Harley squeezed Jo's wrist. "This one, apparently, left you. You were begging him not to leave when I was putting you in a cab. That Jack."

Jo shivered, because damn it all, he wasn't getting out of this one. "Jesus fucking Christ." He put the half-empty mug on the bedside table and sat back, slouching a little and fidgeting with his hands in his lap. He owed Harley an explanation. "Jack... Jack's my older brother. Half-brother. He was, anyway." Jo sighed, and Harley sat straight, hands folded on his feet, eyes clear and clearly listening. "See, my Dad and Jack's Mom, they both came over from Shangri-La, but I guess my Dad met some girl on the side, and that's where I came from. I don't remember a lot about them." He mussed his hair. "Dad was real tall, and he always looked kinda sad, and my mom was really pretty. I think she had red hair, like me." He managed a wobbly smile, still avoiding eye contact and squeezing his sheet in his fingers. "But I guess when Dad split from Jack's Mom, he got Jack, so all four of us lived together when I was little. I think Jack's Mom had problems, so..." He trailed off, and sighed. "But everything was fine, as far as I remember. Dad and my mom loved me, and Jack was the best big brother you could ask for." His chest ached, and Harley could see nostalgia in his smile until it faded again. "But... somethin' happened, when I was still little. There was an accident." Jo squinted his eyes shut, because he could still see it sometimes.

His legs cramped in a car seat, an airbag in his shoulder, blaring klaxons in his ear. The windshield cracked, a head of long red hair splayed flat on the dashboard. Jack, already with long legs and strong arms, struggling to get him loose from his seat belt, tears and snot and blood running down his face.

"I guess they wrecked the car, but Dad and my mom didn't make it out. And... I didn't have any other relatives, so I was told. My mom's family disowned her, and my Dad's family all died overseas. But Jack's mom... Mom, she took us both. She offered to take us both." Jo sighed again, and pulled his knees to his chest. "And, I guess she probably wanted Jack, anyway, but... it was hard for Mom, y'know? Raising the kid of the woman your husband left you for..." He cringed. "And... she still had problems. She drank, a lot. Maybe did other stuff. And... when she got upset, she'd go for me."

Harley's eyes were wide. "Jo..."

"I got locked in the closet sometimes. She hit me. Roughed me up. Forgot to feed me when she was drunk. Pulled my hair. She hated my hair." He slipped his fingers up into his hair and tugged, still hearing a screeching voice telling him just how horrible he was. "I had to go to the hospital a couple times." He was still smiling, but his pupils were dilated to tiny black stars in stormy eyes. "I tripped down the stairs. Clumsy little idiot fell, face-first, into the oven. His brother hit him there with a football when they were playing." Harley's heart clenched, because he had a sudden, painful revelation as to why Jo couldn't have children.

"Why didn't you run away then? Or tell someone?" He wrung his hands, but Jo shrugged, shoulders low.

"I was little, y'know? Besides, where was I gonna go? The homes, they're awful, I must'a heard a million times how anyone who'd take me would just treat me worse, and I was too stupid to think I could just go on the road." He lifted his eyes, flicking them over Harley, taking in his pity, then let them sink back down again. "But, I mean, kids get hit sometimes, y'know? It wasn't all so bad. I still had Jack."

Jo had pulled his knees to his chest in a hug, gripping his fingers around them. How could someone so long and lanky, all broad grins and sharp angles, suddenly look so small and soft? Harley swallowed dryly, as Jo chewed a finger, and after waiting for Harley to prompt him, went on without: "Jack took care of me, 'cause most of the time, Mom just couldn't." Jo tipped his head back with a wistful little smile. "He gave me medicine when I had a fever, cleaned me up when I got hurt. He tried to keep me out of the house. Took me to the playground, or the comic shop, school dances, basketball court. Did my homework with me. Always made sure to tell me he loved me when he put me down to sleep. I know some kids fight with their big brothers, and we fought too." Jo laughed to himself, but cupped a hand over his mouth to smother it. "He'd... he'd steal my allowance and lie to me about it. Tugged my hair, 'cause I liked it long, even then. It wasn't so bad, though." He ran a hand back through his hair, tugging stringy threads still damp with sweat, and huddled down against the pillow. "He protected me from Mom. He... he did what he could..." Jo swallowed now, and Harley sat incrementally forward to touch Jo's foot.

"Do you want to tell me?"

Jo nodded, his throat working, and his voice quavered when he spoke again. "Jack, he... he was nine years older than me, so when I was five, he was fourteen, and he... he got tall early, and he got long and his face got all hard, and... I saw pictures, y'know? He looked a lot like Dad did, and that, that made her feel better." Jo cringed his eyes shut. "He'd... he'd keep her company, y'know?" Jo dry-heaved, and clapped both hands over his mouth for a second until he could swallow everything again, down into the black recesses of his memory. Harley had long since caught on, and moved to cover Jo's hand with his.

"Oh, Joel."

"I know, I know." Jo shook Harley's hand off and put both hands in his hair again, gripping and pulling. "It's fucked up, right? But it's not like I had to watch. It's not so bad." He laughed again, briefly, and dropped his hands to hug his knees again. "I just... y'know, curl up in the closet with the radio." His voice dropped an octave. "Turn it up as loud as it could fucking go. Sing along so I could hear my own voice and know I was still alive and there. I knew it was over when she'd bang on the door and tell me to shut the fuck up, nobody wants to listen to you-" Jo choked, but swallowed again and smeared at his mouth. Harley could see it: Jo, small, curled up just like he was now, shielded by moth-ball-filled coats and old duffel bags, hugging the radio to his chest and singing because nobody else could hear him. "But... but that's okay, right? I mean, everyone gets kicked around a little." Harley's wide-eyed gaze told him no, it really wasn't okay, so Jo shut his eyes to try and block it out.

"I... I tried to be nice to her, so maybe she'd be nice to me too. She was my Mom. I wanted her to love me. When the CPS people came to check up on us, since they knew she had problems, she'd clean me up and comb my hair and tell me to be good, and... it was nice, when she felt like being nice to me." He choked out a laugh. "Probably 'cause if I was messed up, she'd lose the state payments, and hell, I didn't wanna go to a foster home, that meant I'd lose Jack." He managed a smile. "I still had Jack, y'know? We had fun." He forced a smile. "The playground at the Y, sock hops, fun stuff. One time we got lost on the bus route and ended up at the depot. It was like midnight, we didn't know how to get home, so he just kept teasing me, 'Don't cry, don't cry,' trying to make me cry, or make me laugh, so I'd feel better. Jesus." Jo smeared at his eyes, as if tears were still hot in the creases. The red stoplight outside felt so hot on his face. "He loved me."

"Jack did what he could. I think he was scared she might actually kill me one of those days." Jo laughed again, high-pitched now. "Took a job as soon as he could, stocking groceries or whatever he could do, to save money. He swore we'd run away and go somewhere better as soon as he had enough. He got a car, and he was always working on some plan. Always, 'next month, Jojo,' 'one more paycheck, Jojo.' He had to leave me alone with her to do it, though."

He paused, and bit his lips, slumping down further. Harley was still sitting, obediently listening, like a therapist or a plush doll, his eyes and every angle of him focused on Jo, and Jo let his face fall away as he searched for words. "I got her flowers on Valentine's Day, when I was like eight. They were selling 'em at school, but I had to stay late to get 'em, so I missed the bus home. I walked home." He grimaced. "I mean, I tried to call her from the school office, ask her for a ride, but she didn't pick up. So I walked. She... she was waitin' for me at the corner." His arms were starting to shake a little. "The CPS people had come, and she got in trouble for me not bein' there. I give her the flowers, tell her I'm sorry, tell her it's gonna be okay, tell her I love her, and-" Jo choked up. "She just starts screaming. Threw the flowers in the street, pushed me down, stomped on me, and then-" His hand rushed to his cheek, clutching it, a look of utter pain overtaking him. There was silence. Then. "I dunno what happened. Next thing I knew, Jack's ugly-ass sedan was on top of her, and I'm on the side of the road, and- Jesus, he must have been driving home and saw us, and panicked and lost control, and Mom's just smeared on the fucking pavement, and Jack's hugging me and crying and my face is bleeding, and... I don't remember much." He rubbed his cheek, and, not for the first time, Harley noticed two narrow creases from his jawline trailing up towards his eyes, almost faded, but not quite. "I guess," Jo mumbled. "I remember the cops showing up, and they took Jack away. I tried to tell 'em, don't take him, I begged him not to go, but he was gone. Last thing I heard him say was, 'I'll come back, Jojo,' but he was gone."

Jo paused again, wincing at his own memories. "I wasn't little anymore, and nowhere near as fucking stupid. I ran. I ran as far and fast as I could, 'cause where was I gonna go? Nobody else would want me. I'd end up in a foster home or some shit, and fuck if I wanted that. Mom told me how awful they were. No, I got up and started running and didn't look back." He lifted a hand to gesture out the window. "Landed here eventually, and that's when I ended up with Benny, and then I got in trouble, and here I am. I tried to look Jack up in whatever city I ended up in, just in case he was there too, or looking for me, but he was never there. I ain't really tried since I got out. I figure, if he's alive, he's got a better chance of finding me than me finding him, and if he wanted to find me, wouldn't he have?" Silence fell between them, as heavy as the layer of dust Jo had blown off of his life to expose everything buried underneath. Harley felt as if he were looking at him for the first time, seeing past the smiling joker, the kind wildcard who swore and smoked too much and put on a grin for everyone. And then, the smile was back.

"So, that's Jack. That's why I didn't want him to leave. He was the only sorry sonofabitch who ever really wanted me, and that's the end of that." He let his knees fall to the side and rubbed his hands over his eyes, staring at the cracks in the ceiling through the webbing of his fingers. "See, everyone leaves, nobody stays. My folks, Jack, Benny. Even the people that do stick around hardly want me there 'less I'm useful, and then they vanish the second I'm not. If you're all just gonna leave, why the fuck should any of it matter?" He sighed, and dragged his hands down to his lap again, and closed them into fists. "But you... you don't wanna hear about any of that." He shook his head, still smiling with his eyes down, even as Harley put a light, lithe hand on his shoulder. "Here I am, vomiting my stupid sob story all over you, when I'd wanted to show you a good time tonight. What a fucking mess I made, huh?" He slapped his knees and sat forward, his head still sloshing from the alcohol sweating through him. "Y'know, next year, I'll just get you a date. A nice girl who'll treat you good. Someone quiet and sweet who isn't fucked up, and she'll take you somewhere nice like you deserve, like the goddamn decent human being you are." He made as if to rise, but Harley hadn't released his shoulder.

"I've wounded you terribly."

"Huh?" Jo's jaw fell, but Harley shook his head.

"Goodness, Joel, I never meant it." His face wrought, almost painfully, mimicking the sudden yank twisting all of Jo's heartstrings. "When I said I was going to leave, I- I never really wanted to! Do you still think I'm going to leave you?" Harley sat forward to hold both of Jo's shoulders, and slowly, evenly repeated it. "Do you honestly think I'm going to leave you?" His gaze had hardened, fixing Jo to the mattress with all the stone those intense eyes could hold. "If everyone leaves, does that include me? Are you just waiting for me to tire of you, to truly bore of our friendship, or to find something better?"

"Harl-" Jo's throat was closing, and he had to fight the feeling back. "It ain't like that-"

"You're right. It's not." Harley sat forward, pulling Jo in close, their noses nearly touching, and despair in his timbre. "Joel, things change, and people do too, but as far as I'm concerned, these two things will not:

"One, that you are as good and kind a person as there is, more so than I will ever be, deserving of the love and friendship you have long been denied, and the cruelty you suffered in your childhood does not preclude you from such happiness."

"Two, I will not leave you." Harley shook him, and Jo tumbled forward into his embrace, and Harley continued, desperately, into his ear. "I will be on your side and at your side for as long as you should want me here." He lifted Jo up, their faces close again, almost too close. "I won't leave you. You'd have to force me. I won't abandon you." Jo realized that Harley's hold was turning into an embrace, warm and welcoming, and he then realized that it had been a long time since someone had held him like this and meant it. His chin on his shoulder, chest to chest, and-

Oh, oh no. Shit, why was his stupid, stupid dick sticking its fat, idiot head into this?! A few nice touches, and suddenly his worse half was poking its way into a perfectly good friendship, what the fuck was that?! Harley was gonna notice, and Harley would probably think he was a fag- he tried to shove back, but Harley didn't budge, didn't let him break the embrace. He just pulled him tighter, and Jo realized with mixed horror and curiosity that he wasn't the only one aroused by the contact.

"Jo," Harley breathed into his ear, his voice husky, his eyes misty with intent. "I... let me show you how much I want you. Let me show you how much I want to stay with you." He lifted his chin and rubbed his cheek against Jo's, turning his head, and with only a heartbeat of hesitation, he pressed his mouth against Jo's and crushed them together.

Jo didn't react at first, until Harley's mouth moved against his and swallowed his lips. His mouth was welcoming, like coming home, warm and giving and soft. His lips were smooth, dry, and drew him in. His tongue tasted like mint, but sweeter than any stupid mojito, salt and sweet and warmth, and fuck, Jo was kissing a man. His best friend. Why was he liking it?

Harley broke the kiss and craned his neck, still watching Jo, and Jo licked his lips and searched for words. "Sh..."The only words that came, though...

He wants me. He needs me. He won't leave me. He...

"Jo?" Harley's long lashes fluttered, and he touched the scars on his cheek to bring him out of his mind and down to the surface. Back to where Harley was, the here and now. The open offer of  _want_.

"Sh... shhhhhhhhit!" Jo threw himself at Harley, threw his arms around him and returned the kiss, full force, consuming lips, swallowing tongue. It was a bruising blow, and it  _hurt_ , because Harley didn't give ground and let Jo have it, he kissed back, their teeth clicking, licking off of each other's tongues, and Jo's knees went wobbly from the effort. He'd never kissed anyone else like this. He didn't think he wanted to. When he came to his senses again, panting for breath, he threw his shirt off. "Let's go. Let's, let's just-  _Harley_." He grabbed at Harley's elbows, and Harley held him back, and laughed.

Fuck, that noise was even prettier than his smile.

Harley leaned in to kiss him again, and Jo didn't resist. Jo fumbled muzzily with the buttons on Harley's shirt, as Harley stroked Jo's hair and kissed him over and over. "I'll help, if you'd like," he whispered against his mouth, but Jo shook his head. He would have let him, or told him, 'Quit that, I can't focus already!' but his mouth was warm and delicious, the sensation of his lips and teeth almost hypnotic. Harley stopped waiting for permission, and helped with the last few buttons. Jo broke the kiss at last and moved to his waistband, his thumbs catching in the hollows at his slender hips and under the belt. He felt his fingers stop when he pulled the little tie on his pants loose.

What was he doing?

Harley's skin was smooth, but the smell was all wrong. Even as Jo pulled a tried and true nip at the dip of the shoulder and collarbone, he tasted- shit, good, but wrong. So wrong. His hands moved automatically to tease Harley's nipples through his tank top, felt them draw tight into puckers under his fingers, and Harley released a breathy 'oh,' and Jo kept licking and biting at the join of his neck and shoulder and waiting for it to feel right.

He reached for the bottom of his undershirt, but Harley stopped his hands. "Let... let me." He rested his fingers at Jo's hairline to tip his head up, then rubbed his forehead and nose against Jo's. Jo shut his eyes, hypnotized, and Harley's fingers dropped to his waist. Jo let his eyes just open as Harley pulled his shirt up, just skimming his fingers over the skin. The ivory scar was exposed, and Harley shivered at the cold air creeping under the window. Jo ghosted his fingers across the scar and back down to his hipbones, and let his index finger just rest at the apex of the jag.

It seemed to have a pulse of its own, and Harley cringed. "Joel, I-"

"Shh." Girls always went for that, he could feel those little shivers of insecurity, and he soothed them away with his fingers flat against the skin. Harley's eyelashes fluttered with another weak sigh, and Jo traced his fingers up Harley's chest to the collarbone and bent down to kiss the scar. "Relax." He could taste his own breath off of Harley's skin, and closed his eyes again as Harley's hand came up and carded into his hair. "How ya wanna do this?"

"I... I've never been with a man before."

"Me neither." Jo cringed, and hoped Harley couldn't see it. "I'm just..." He looked up at Harley over his bare, thin chest, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay here." He tumbled from the bed and stumbled to his jacket. His wallet was still in the pocket, and there was still a condom in his wallet. Harley shimmied out of his pants and folded them as Jo returned and sank back down into the folds of his sheets. "Look, I- I'm gonna make you feel real good. I've done this sorta stuff before, just..." He swallowed, then sighed. "Turn around."

Harley obeyed, shifting around to expose his slender neck, his bony back and knobby spine, and sat camel-style with his hands on his knees. Jo couldn't see his prick, hard and flushed purple even in the dim and changing light. That helped a little. Jo knelt behind him, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna touch you." He rubbed his chin on Harley's shoulder. "If it don't feel good, stop me."

"Anything, Joel." Harley shivered, and Jo shivered too.

Harley wanted this, he wanted him. Wanted him so bad. He had to give him what he wanted.

He returned his fingers to tracing Harley's nipples, and felt a held breath escape in a titter. Fuck. He ghosted one hand, one long finger up Harley's shoulder and down across his back, and traced the firm flesh of his ass. Jo had to stop to wince, his hand freezing and trembling there.

It wasn't like he'd never had a girl ask for this before. But- this was Harley- this was...

He tore the condom open with his teeth and put one finger in. "I ain't got any lube. This's gonna have to do." He rubbed his finger against the crack, spreading the lube from the condom around the pucker, then just teased his fingertip in. Harley gasped, and Jo took that as encouragement to put his finger the rest of the way in.

"Oh- oh Joel." Jo grunted in response, and pushed his finger in and out a few times. Harley's hands fell from his thighs and grasped at the rumpled sheet. Jo arched his finger, and Harley arched his back. "Oh!"

"That's right," Jo encouraged automatically. He crooked his finger and swirled it around, and the noises Harley released were- oh, fuck, angels couldn't sing that sweet. He pumped a few more times, withdrew all the way, then teased at the opening with a second finger slipped into the rubber.

"Aaa-hh." Harley's jaw stretched as if loosening his lips would loosen the rest of him, and Jo shushed in his ear and pinched his nipple.

"I'll stop. Say stop, and I'll stop." He worried the nub with his fingers a little longer, leaving his two fingertips hanging in the opening, and Harley said nothing. Instead, he pushed his hips back against Jo's fingers, and that said everything Jo needed to hear.

I want more. Please, give me more.

Jo would oblige.

He lazily pumped both fingers in and out, and skittered the fingers at Harley's nipple down to his hip to hold him steady as Harley thrust back. Harley was trying to smother his soft whimpers, desperate noises of pleasure that he couldn't suppress. He tried to glance around to Jo, apology in his wrought expression, but Jo smiled and leaned in to kiss him over his shoulder.

Oh, Harley liked that. And in a weird way, the pleasure apparent in the movements of his mouth and the desperate sigh muffled into their locked lips, knowing he was making Harley happy, that put a squirmy sort of joy in his chest. He didn't know what to make of it, but he knew what to do.

"Just feel what you're feeling," he muttered, and shifted position, his breast against Harley's shoulder blades, his head tucked in his neck, knees splayed around Harley's thin hips, his fingers still curling and swirling around in tight heat. "Ride it out. Feels good?" Harley managed a strangled assent, as Jo's free hand wrapped around his belly and held him in place. Then, he put those long, strong fingers of his to good use and picked up a hard, fast rhythm of thrusts. Harley wasn't making noise anymore, jaw stretched wide as if to scream. Jo could feel the muscles tensing around him, and that awful thought crept in:  _I could feel it, too._ Fuck. No. Harley was a dude, his friend, he wasn't-

Finish this.

He wrapped his hand around Harley's dick and squeezed, tried to pretend it was his own (painfully hard) prick, and caught the same rhythm. Four hard strokes, and Harley came in a hot burst. He wept with relief and slumped, taking Jo's weight with him, and Jo let himself fall heavy against him as he struggled for air.

"Joel... Jo... you..."

Jo cringed, because Harley's hand was on his knee, and he was looking back with bedroom eyes and smiling.

"You're wonderful. Please, let me return the favor."

Jo's chest seized up, his mind racing. He couldn't hear Harley, couldn't see anything but a crooked smirk and the way they always looked at him, from over or under and suddenly beside him, and he kept hearing  _her_  voice in his ear.

_"You'll bleed, it'll hurt like having your teeth ripped out, you'll bleed and scream and burn in hell-"_

"I-" Jo sprung up and back. "I need a second." He smeared his hand off on his boxers and stumbled for the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air and scrabbling for purchase on the side of the counter, the toilet, his own shaking leg. His insides were curdling, Harley's spunk was dripping, slimy and sticky, off of his hand, and everything was breaking and crumbling inside of him. It was like a wall was shattering in his own mind, and it took every ounce of control he still had to hold back everything trying to break through. Not this, not like this...

There was a soft knock on the door. "Jo?"

"I'm fine," Jo answered through his teeth, then sat up, unable to keep a waver from his voice. "I'm fine. I... I can't..."

"What is it?" Jo hoped he was hearing concern. He didn't think he could stand expectant eyes, wanting, demanding more of him. He heard Harley slide down to sit against the door. "Joel, you've made me feel so wonderful. I'd like to give you the same pleasure, if you'll let me."

"I... I cant, I just can't." He cringed, even as his hard cock twitched insistently against his boxer shorts. He tried to will it away, because it clearly had no idea what was good for it anymore, and sank onto his thighs against the wall. "I..." He fumbled for words, then sighed into some. "I'm out of condoms. And, with that needle stick back in May, I mean, I know I came back clean, but... I don't wanna hurt you, man."

Harley was quiet. Then, "I understand. Of course. You're terribly considerate." He heard the swish of Harley's palm brushing the floor. "Then... if you must... won't you at least think of me?"

The weird noise Jo made at that notion was too suspiciously much like a sob, and he swallowed it and choked another back. Harley kept talking, softly, coaxing. "I want you to think of what it would feel like if I could put my hand on you. My hands are nimble, Joel, I'd tease your sac and trace all the lines of your veins just to watch you shiver." Jo felt the shiver, and braced himself against the wall. Someone whispered 'oh, fuck, Harl,' in a watery, broken tone he didn't recognize. (It might have been him.) "What about my mouth, Jo?" Jo licked his own lips at the thought. "I'm sure you taste like salt, meat, cigarette smoke, savory and wonderful all at once. I'm all too curious. I'd take you in as far as I could and lick you clean. Can't you just imagine, watching yourself vanish into my lips?" Jo heaved another sob, and saw Harley's fingers creep under the door. "Think of my body." Jo sobbed one last time, and capitulated, pushing his boxers down, wrapping a hand around his dick, and pulling. Shit, why was he feeling like a virgin at an orgy? "Joel, you're my first, I want you to be my last and only, you know how I feel more than anyone else. There's nobody else, Jo, I'd let you do whatever you wanted." Jo stroked harder and harder, seeing it there, perfect, in his mind. Harley, spread and splayed out, his lean body stretched out for the taking, the hard breastbone, the pallid, tight abdomen, the lean lines of muscle, those lips just parted, entreating temptation, and Jo  _wanted_. "You could pin me down, tie me up, force me on my belly and pour yourself into me, and I'll just revel in the smell of your sweat and your weight against me. I'll hold you in, nice and tight, and never let you go." He jerked himself to the rhythm of Harley's voice. So close, so close- "Anything, Jo, I'll be yours and yours only, just think about fucking me-"

There it was. Harley said that word, and Jo lost his grip and spent in a hot burst all over his hand and thighs. He gulped air in gasps, and smeared his hand off on his shirt. He could smell him and Harley all over him, and the churning in his belly only got worse.

_How... why...?_

_I'm..._

"Joel?" Harley knocked on the door again. "Please come out. I'd very much like to kiss you good night."

Jo winced, because that hurt and he didn't know why.

"Look, I'll be there in a second. I made kind of a mess, I gotta clean it up." He cringed as he looked at his hand again, as it it were still covered in their fluids, stained and scarred in, burning hot. It was a wonder his skin wasn't peeling off. "I'll come out when I'm done. Just go, get comfy, I'll... I'll be there soon."

"Of course." And then, there was affection and tenderness like a warm blanket poured into three simple words: "Good night, Jo." There was a moment where the silence hung, where Harley hovered outside the door a moment longer, as Jo shivered against the wall, then, the faint groan of the floorboards as Harley rose and walked away. Jo could hear the kitchen sink running through the door, then nothing. Jo waited, waited as long as he thought it might take Harley to fall asleep.

Then, he rose up to the sink, turned the water on hot as high as it could go, and let his hands sit under the searing stream until the skin puckered and ached, then numbed out.

The thing was, he wasn't angry. He knew he was just confused. But it was reverberating around in his gut and lungs and head, sick and churning and wild. He knew it was wrong, he was a man, he was  _straight, straight as a fucking line_ , and Harley was...

What the fuck happened now?


	15. In Over His Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo tries to sort himself out in the aftermath of his night with Harley, but stumbles into something even more confusing.

**Staying Straight**

**15: In Over His Head**

Jo didn't come out of the bathroom until the morning came. He curled down against the wall, somewhere between trying to shut his own thoughts down and think of anything else, until light came to creep under the door. He opened the door a crack to see that pink sunlight was flooding the room through the blinds, and Harley was still curled up in the bed. Jo could just see his knees and shoulders poking out from the sheets where he'd tangled himself, in a perfect little spoon position. Jo still wasn't sure how to feel about it, and it made him queasy all over again.

He grabbed the notepad Harley usually used for grocery lists, and scrawled down, "Had an errand to run. Text you later. Sorry." All the thoughts of how the walk of shame was even worse when it was out of your own house flooded back through him, and he shut them down with stone and steel.

Steele. Fuck.

Jo found his bike chained up on a parking meter outside, and grimaced at the yellowish water dripping out of the bloated seat. He couldn't be mad at Harley for not thinking to bring it inside. He didn't want to think too much about Harley right now. He clambered on anyway, not bothering to care that his pants were soaked through or that there was still time ticking down on the meter.

He felt eyes from above him, and glanced up to see the window above his pushed open, and Mercy leaning out with a cigarette to hir lips. Se waved to him as he pedaled off, gaze cast down.

The early ride to K-One was a blank to Jo, the streets and sidewalks bare, which only made the echo chamber in his head worse. Noises bounced off of him, familiar voices, whispering everything he didn't want to hear.

Sicko.

Pervert.

Faggot.

Jo stuffed his earbuds in, cranked the volume, and picked up speed, trying to drown them out and failing.

Jo dropped his bike against the sidewalk and seated himself heavily on the concrete steps of K-One again. He didn't know just how long he sat there, but it felt like weeks flew through him, taking chunks of flesh with each bloody Sunday, and he buried his face in his hands to shield them from the bright morning light.

His hangover chose around then to kick in, and he moaned as the headache burned behind his eyes. It was then that he was met with a scoff. "You know, the rest of the drifters are inside, if you'd like to join them." Jo glanced up, blearily, to see Steele approaching on foot, dressed for the day but with bags under his eyes, a convenience store bag filled with loaves of bread decorated with orange half-off stickers in one hand and a newspaper in the other. "I can't see any other reason why you'd be here this early, unless Harley's kicked you out of your own home for making an ass of yourself."

Jo grimaced. "Good morning to you too, Father," he rumbled soberly (ha!), but dug into his jacket. "I'm just here to give this back to you." He found the flask in his pocket and held it out, and Father Steele swiped it from his hands with a scoff. He immediately frowned and shook it, then pitched the flask back at Jo's head.

"It's empty. Why would you pour my stash out? Didn't like it, substituted your own?"

"Drank it."

"You- You fucking drank it?!" The shock that stole over Steele's features spoke to surprise rather than anger, then quickly morphed right into anger. "All of it?!"

"You said, if I was nervous, drink." Jo twiddled his fingers and looked down at the spread of his knees. Anything but the righteous fury building in the creases on Father Steele's forehead. "I was real nervous. I just wanted Harley to have fun, and-"

"I said a sip! Take a sip! Singular!" Steele dropped the bread bag and seized Jo's collar, then batted him over the head with the empty flask to punctuate: "One! Uno! Ein! Unum! Ichi! Fucking! Moron!" With that, Steele dropped him. Jo moaned and covered his aching head with his hands, and Steele scoffed, lip curling, as he put the flask back away and picked his bread up. "You deserve the hangover."

"I deserve worse." Jo's face fell, and he dug the fingers on both hands into his hair. "God help me, I slept with him, and I-"

Steele had him up by the collar again, bread firmly grasped this time, but his newspaper forgotten. "Tell me you're joking." Jo grimaced, pressing his lips shut, and Steele shook him. "Tell me you're kidding. Tell me you're mistaken." He shook him again, the force of his anger the only thing propelling him to hold fast a man half a head taller and more than a few pounds heavier. "Tell me you were hallucinating. Tell me you're lying. Tell me you're still drunk. Tell me fucking anything but that!"

Jo broke and cried out, "I can't fucking lie about it!" And with that, Steele had dragged him inside, past the tenants hovering around the television watching the news and Gage eating cereal out of the box. Steele hurled the bread bag at the back of his head as they passed, and threw Jo into the confessional box at the back of the room. Instead of settling in the other side, though, he pinned Jo at the back of the cubicle and dragged the door shut behind him. It wasn't a big space, trapping Jo in, with less than an inch between his chest and Father Steele's, and even less between his ear and the blunt edge of a cross.

"Jo, Harley is not well," Steele growled, his fists tightening in Jo's shirt. "You don't know what kind of damage you're doing. Why would you take a sick man- whom you know to be sick- for a one night stand? What, is this your way of giving him a birthday present?"

"N-no," Jo stammered, futilely lifting his hands. "It's not like that. N-not one night, n-not- no." Shit, he was still drunk. "Fuck, it was an accident. He was just, there, and he wanted me, and he's my best friend, and- fuck, what is wrong with me?" He thumped his head against the back of the box. "I mean, I'm straight!"

"Ha!" Steele's humorless laugh had a harder, angrier edge than Harley's ever could. "Your denial is the least of my problems right now! Why the hell would you initiate if you-" Steele came up short, and he lowered Jo, incrementally, down the back wall. "You didn't, did you?"

It wasn't really a question, but Jo still answered. "No. He kissed me." His face fell, and he screwed his eyes shut. "He hugged me, then he kissed me, and told me he wanted me, and then... fuck, you don't want a play-by-play."

"Hell, no."

"Don't think it'd happened if I..." Jo sighed, his legs going limp under him. "Fuck, I'm such a dumbass."

"Goddamn right you are." Steele dropped Jo to the ground. "No matter how it happened, you have to take responsibility." Steele stepped back, then considered him with eyes that were much older than the man they were stuck in. "Were you forced? If you were forced, I'm calling the cops, I don't care how good of friends you are-"

Jo's ears burned. "Harley didn't force me to do shit."

"There's a relief." Steele seemed to relax, then grabbed his temples and squeezed his brow. "It might have been a mistake, or an accident, or something you regret, but no matter what, you need to make it clear to him. Don't string him on, or give him false hope." He shook his head into his palm. "You know how easy it would be to break him."

Jo pinned his lips shut, his shoulders shuddering, because there were new voices in his head now, ones asking why nobody cared about his false hope, or what would break him. "And what about me?" He didn't lift his eyes so he wouldn't have to flinch at Steele's sneer.

"You're straight, aren't you?"

"Fuck, I am, but that doesn't mean I don't care." Jo slumped against the wall and slid down to the bench, scrubbing his face with both hands. "I do care. More'n anything ever. More'n... fuck. More than anything." He was quiet, and he could feel Steele studying him. He dared to lift his eyes, but there was no guidance, no light in that gaze, or if there was, Jo couldn't see it. He sighed, and lifted his hands. "I know, fuck, I know. We're... we're friends, yeah? He won't vanish just 'cause I... fuck." He dropped his hands and face all at once. "I don't deserve him. "

"Listen to you." Steele flexed his fingers. "Like anybody deserves anything. Listen to me, asshole-" He snapped a hand out to seize Jo's hair, and lifted his face by the scalp. "It's yours if you earned it. What value is your love, anyway? If Harley's willing to pay, then fuck, what's the crime in letting him have it?!"

"Get off me!" Jo wrenched himself loose. "What the fuck do you want me to do?!"

"Figure your own stupid ass out!" Steele sighed, and let his shoulders rest on the back of the door. "Figure your shit out, and work through it with him, or come clean with him and see if you can restore your friendship, or shit, I don't know..." He shoved a hand into the Napoleon pocket of his vestment and drew out his box of cigarettes. "Just... don't hurt him. Harley, hurt, is not pretty." His icy, bluer-than-blue eyes, fixed on Jo with narrow, hard pupils. "You don't want to be in the bluster of that storm."

With that, Steele hooked Jo's elbow in his hand and frog-marched him out, a cigarette in his lips, and half-way threw him towards his bike with a, "And watch the goddamn booze, you lush!" With that, he stormed off towards the side alley of the mission, hackles raised and face all but burning. It didn't seem like anger, though, it was just a messy mix-up of emotions. Jo was having his own storm in his own head.

Talking to Steele hadn't helped, but it had added one more angry voice to the mix. Jo wasn't sure which one to listen to anymore, because all of them were berating him.  _"Faggot. Moron. Drunk. You're going to hurt him."_  He tried to think it out, but couldn't- should've known better than to try, he was such a fucking moron-  _faggot moron drunk idiot pervert-_  and couldn't even sort out his next step. He knew he had to face the music, but like hell if he wanted to go back and do it. He was going to have to talk to Harley, but how could he, when it looked like his only good option was to crack the guy in half? But what else could he possibly do? Standing there trying to process wasn't helping, he was just jamming up like a fax machine, the grinding noise in his ears getting louder and louder-

Until he realized it was his phone, and without thinking, he snatched it up and opened his mouth to answer, every word running up his throat dying on his tongue, unsure of what to say. Finally, he rasped a weak, "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, then, an unfamiliar woman spoke through an undercurrent of disgust. "I was told this was a courier."

Oh. Oh, shit, this was his work phone, and Zack's boss had wanted his number. "Sorry, sorry. Er, West Side Deliveries, if it needs to go, Go West." The slogan sounded lamer than ever. He tried to put on a businesslike tone, like he had to for clients, but luckily, that only involved the surface of his brain. "I was told to expect your call, just not when. This is a personal phone too, you see- I, uh, what did you need picked up?" Smooth. Jo tried to scold himself for not being any better at talking to a woman, but that just made his guts squirm.

"You're a professional?" Jo winced. If he weren't so hungover, maybe she wouldn't sound as pissed as she did, but he could just be fooling himself.

"Yes'm." He searched his brain for the questions he needed to ask. "If you can tell me what's being picked up, where I'm picking it up from, approximate size and weight, and where it's going, I can be there as quick as I can." He stumbled over all the information in his head, met only with icy silence that crept through the airwaves. "So, uh-"

"It's three boxes. Approximately sixty pounds. I am in the penthouse of Grand View Condominium, in the Harbor Point borough. I'll write out the delivery address for you upon your arrival." He could hear her acrylic-coated fingernails drumming against the receiver. "Don't keep me waiting. Bring a W-9, I'll give you my address so you can invoice me." The line clicked dead, and Jo stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

He'd rather walk off the dock and drown than face Harley right now. And now he had an excuse not to.

* * *

He should've known when he heard "Grand View" and "Harbor Point" that he was going through the Business District. All the people who worked at the top of those shining buildings lived in the Harbor Point borough, south of the skyscrapers and past restaurants that Jo knew he'd never be able to eat at, clothing stores he'd be laughed out of, and down streets lined with cars that cost more than he'd make in his lifetime. The dockyards here were full of pleasure boats, yachts and speedboats, and rarely, the odd tourboat towards the "historic" west end of the city that had been constructed as the old city. The cruise yard was visible across the narrow part of the inlet, empty today, so Jo could make out the old Domino Sugar factory on a bluff overlooking the water near the walls of an actually historic garrison. Mid-rises and high-rises buildings here had neat, even coloration from block to block, red brick, brownstone, then immaculate slate. Not like the dilapidated facade of his rotten little tenement, or the crumbling brick and whitewashed cinderblock that lined the streets of his quarter.

Jo had only stopped in the warehouse to swap the second seat on his bike for the basket, swiping a key from under the alarm box and barely remembering to replace it before riding back off. He wondered, as he found the Grand View Condominium on his phone's GPS, if he shouldn't have tried to dig up a tie. He just thanked what few stars still twinkled on his behalf that it was still not yet ten in the morning, so there weren't too many people out and about yet. The odd trust-fund baby walking her shih-tzu and joggers aside, the sidewalks were mostly empty, though there were a few cars on the move, but there were still less people out and about to give him the stink-eye. Jo felt dirty enough already. Didn't need that shit today.

High View Condominium-well, the name suited it at least. It loomed over the townhouses and rowhouses surrounding it, at least twenty stories high and as big as any industrial park, a hulking monstrosity of steel and mirrored glass. Next to the brick and stone buildings surrounding it, it was like it had just been dropped down there out of an alien saucer and left, its slick, shiny exterior uncanny next to the antiqued look of the rest of the quarter. All the walls were windows, with terraces and balconies on all the higher levels. Someone living there would sure as hell have a high view, up over the rest of the city looking down. Jo couldn't help but sneer to himself as he rode past the cubic topiary sculptures to find a spot to park his bike.

"I hope the fucking roof leaks."

The concierge called up to the penthouse after Jo explained himself (because a building like this has a fucking concierge), and she glowered after him all the way to the elevator. The elevator moved so fast it nearly made him sick, but he somehow stumbled out onto the entry foyer to the penthouse. Knowing he had to pretend to be professional but feeling himself come up short in more ways than one, Jo tied his hair back and smoothed his wrinkled shirt down before knocking. There was a long pause, and Jo knocked again, only now receiving an answer: "I heard you the first time."

"Sorry, ma'am." Jo scrunched his nose- definitely the same woman from the phone. The door swung open, revealing a woman in a silk bathrobe that cost more than his monthly rent, with all her strawberry-blonde hair wrapped in lime-green silk scarves and slung over her shoulders. She was already wearing jewelry, heavy, jeweled rings, gaudy earrings with pear-shaped stones bigger than Jo's eyeball. Her face was painted with makeup. At first blink, she was attractive, but at the ugly sneer that colored her face when she met Jo's eyes, that notion blinked away.

"Zack recommended you." She surveyed him, her eyes raking him from toe to chest level. "I had no idea couriers were so..." Her nose wrinkled. "Sweaty."

"You'll have to excuse me." Jo tried not to blush, and bit back rising frustration. "I biked all the way here from the east side of the city."

"Bike?" She said the word like she'd never heard it before, a plucked-thin eyebrow arching up. Jo nodded.

"It can be easier to get through heavy traffic on a bike, see." He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. "Besides, it's good exercise."

Her eyes skimmed him again, and her scowl turned to a smirk. "I see." Jo held back a shudder until she turned and stepped back into her condo, past an oblong, stiff sofa and divan that didn't look much good for lounging on and fashionable glass and steel furniture in impractical shapes, her slipper-shod steps deliberately dainty as she led him on. She might have had a pretty face, but Jo already figured her on the too-much-makeup, too-many-birthdays side of things. Besides, that attitude on her was more than a little ugly. She threw a hand beside her as she went to find her purse. "The boxes, there." Jo glanced where she'd gestured, and saw a stack of white cardboard banker's boxes stacked next to the terrace door, leaving a square imprint in the thick, zebra-striped carpet. Jo took a quick peek out the window when he got close to pick them up, to find the building's name didn't lie: he really could see the entire city, gleaming in the morning light. This high up, he couldn't make out much, only saw that it was there, laid out below, so distant it was hardly real. The woman cleared her throat, and Jo scooped the boxes up and carried them to the door.

"Right, well, if you've got the address." He set the boxes down and spun around, to see her holding two business cards in her slender hand. He reached to accept them, but she jerked them right out of his grasp.

"I'll need to see your W-9 first."

"W-9- right, the company data." Jo pulled his phone from his pocket. "Mind if I email it to you? I don't carry paper copies, but I have a PDF."

She held her card out so he could see her email address, and Jo took it. Eugenie Katerina Maoh & Associates, P.A., Criminal Defense Attorneys. No wonder she had a place like this, attorneys who knew what they were doing absolutely raked it in, probably defending white collars and bankers who'd skimmed trust funds or whatever. Plus, if she bought up and owned businesses just for the sake of carving off the top, that was just more in her pocket. Someone had told him that you had to spend money to make money, but damn if you didn't need to have the money to spend first. She, obviously, did. The more he thought about it, the more those voices in his head groused at the thought of doing anything for this woman. Still, Eugenie- heh, Zack's Genie, he got it now- nodded as she received the W-9. "You seem legitimate enough." She waved him off, shooing him with the bend in her fingers. "Take it to that address, invoice me later. Rush charges, overtime, whatever's appropriate."

"Of course, ma'am." He picked the boxes up again and turned to go.

"Oh, and-" He sensed her creep up behind him, then felt her bony fingers creep into his back pocket. Her hands looked like they should have been soft, but actually touching him, they gave him chills. When her fingers withdrew, he felt a pad of something left behind. "I'll call you if I need anything further." Shit, that was almost a purr, Jo thought he was gonna retch right there and then. Something in his head screamed klaxons, but he managed to temper his reaction.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm just gonna go." He walked off, boxes stacked in his hands and color rising in his cheeks.

He couldn't help but wonder at himself. Sure, women staring at him like he was a hunk of meat got old after a while, but why the hell was this Genie alternating between disdain and desire driving so deep at his nerves?

Maybe he was just still too raw to deal. That was fine. He had another bike ride to help him clear his head in his future, and maybe, dear god, could that please help?

* * *

The card Genie had given him wasn't a business card, but a square of cardstock with an address scrawled on in impeccable, ornate script. Plugging the address into his phone took Jo six miles north through the Business District to the Monk's Hill Park borough. Rich came in all forms, it seemed- there was the condominium complex and rowhouses south of the district, and here, this gorgeous, shaded neighborhood laden with trees older than the city- probably dug up and trucked in- and old-looking houses. Harley probably would have said they were Victorian (or something more complicated, like "Ah, architecture reminiscent of the Crounse House, though the dark stone masonry is nearly neo-gothic in nature, or perhaps in the Queen Anne style with Eastlake influence" but Jo didn't want to think too hard about Harley's voice just now). Still, walking through a neighborhood like this made Jo feel small, just as much so as standing under the towering condominium building.

The house he'd been directed to was under a patch of deep shade, shielded from sunlight by a willow as round and dark as an eclipse, the yard punctuated with cypress trees that reached to a sky Jo couldn't see. Ornate carvings in the gables, black shingles fringed with delicate moss, ebony wood siding, walls and windows sheathed in ivy and evergreen hedges. This was like a house from a fairy tale. He didn't remember much from being very little, but he remembered the ethereal paintings from the storybooks his mother read to him, and wondered what it was like to live in houses that big. As an adult, he knew it would just be a pain to try and keep that many rooms clean, for the sake of looking nice from the outside.

Harley probably wouldn't mind. Harley would probably be perfectly happy in a dark, green, cozy place like this- and there his brain went again.

He'd kind of hoped a ride through the city and some shady green trees would help him calm his over-busy mind, but it wasn't helping. Every time he let his brain wander, even for a second, his own stream of consciousness was abusing him. It was exhausting, and at this point, Jo was nearly worn down enough to just go home, even if it meant having to try and hash things out with Harley.

He parked his bike by the mailbox and walked up the driveway past a green Nissan sedan and a black Lexus, then rang the doorbell. Jo could hear an elegant tonal chime sound from within, and an intercom Jo hadn't noticed buzzed. "Who is it?"

Jo started at the sound, then found the white box just under the silver 22 hung by the door. "Er, West Side Deliveries. I've got a parcel for..." He looked at the name for the first time. "Dr. Neil Jenning?"

The buzzer clicked off, and a moment later, the door opened, and a gaunt young woman in a black sundress and a white jacket opened the door, wavy hair hanging loose just past her chin, eyebrows raised behind rectangular glasses. "We're not expecting any deliveries." She folded her arms, and Jo swallowed.

"Sorry, but I'm just the messenger. I was sent here." He glanced to her jacket- looked like a pharmacy jacket, with her name embroidered on the breast. "So, ah, Miss Hwang, is Dr. Jenning in?"

"He doesn't see anyone without an appointment." Hwang advanced on him, shoulders back. He stumbled, the boxes knocking against his chest. "I suggest-"

"Wait, wait, wait," a laughing voice chimed in, and Jo saw a tall, thin man striding from the back of the house towards the door. Hwang stopped in place, glowering back towards him until he reached the threshold, and he slung an arm around Hwang and draped over her. "Miss Hwang, is that how we talk to guests? I've been waiting for this fine gentleman." The man slipped his free hand into his pocket to find a cigarette, lit it, then smiled coyly at Jo around it. He had a sharp, angular jaw, coated with stubble, that slipped into a smirk that suited him like it was poured into place. He was very nearly a parody of a doctor with his glasses, dark hair combed back, and a pharmacy coat with "Dr. Neil" above the pocket, but with a strange magnetism that made Jo think of the wild-eyed charismatic cult leaders from old horror movies. Something just didn't click as a doctor for Jo-- maybe it was his slouch, or his languid drawl, but something just seemed off about him. His lidded eyes skimmed Jo, before he met his gaze with an effortless smirk. "I'm Dr. Jenning. Won't you come in?"

With that, Jenning tickled Hwang's side, and she shrieked and swatted his hand, pushing him off. "Doctor!" He laughed, stepping side, but guided her around in the same direction to give Jo access. "You're the worst, I've told you-"

"Oh, dear, did I offend?" He laughed, puffs of smoke bursting from his lips as he continued to drag down on his cigarette. "It'd be easier to stop if you weren't so cute when you were angry." He pinched her cheek, but she grunted in disgust and stormed for the door.

"We'll discuss my thesis tomorrow!" She yanked her coat off and stomped towards her car, the Nissan's door slamming shut and the car engine turning over with a roar and a rattle. With that, Dr. Jenning turned his attention and a crooked smirk onto Jo, as he stood awkwardly to the side to wait for Jenning to tell him where to put his parcels.

"Sorry, sorry, young man." He chuckled in a way that would have sounded warm from anyone else, but something in his smirk and the way it echoed made it shallow. "Interns." He shrugged, as if those two words explained it all, and tucked his hands into his coat pockets and shuffled a few steps forward. Jo noticed that he was wearing bunny slippers under his khakis. Eh, it was his house, he could wear what he wanted.

"Guess these are goin' to an office, or the like?"

"Oh, no, it'd just get lost in there." Jenning waved a hand in front of his face as he shut the door behind him. "I'm having a meeting later today, why don't you just set these..." He trailed off, scratching at his chin, before coming to a decision with a tap to his cheek. "Veranda."

Jenning led Jo to the door at the back of the house through double glass doors overlooking a covered deck and the yard, really just a short stretch of forest through to another house, the ground a story down. Jenning opened the door for Jo and gestured to a stone table. "Yes, this should do nicely." He dusted his own hands off as if he'd been hauling the boxes around, then held out a bottle of water for Jo. "Nicely done." Jenning grinned, his gaze running up and down Jo again. "Strong, aren't you?"

"Comes with the job," Jo muttered, and took a long drink from the bottle, leaning back against the railing. The breeze moving through the trees felt good on his face and hair, even with the inside of his skull still hot. Jenning laughed, and his hands moved back into his side pockets.

"Strong arms like those, must come in mighty handy. You're pretty tough, eh?" He winked, and Jo felt something curdle inside of him. This guy was really leering at him, and those studious eyes from under those glasses felt like ants creeping across his skin. He managed an 'm-hm' and a stiff nod.

"If, uh, you could sign here." He took his phone out and offered it to Jenning. "Technology's pretty cool, yeah?"

"Hm." Jenning accepted Jo's phone and traced an X on the signature line. "So it is." Instead of offering his phone back, Jenning flipped a phone out of his pocket- not every day you saw a man with a white bunny cell phone charm, but Jo wouldn't judge. "Well, since the Madame trusted you, would you mind if I got your number? I just might need a strong arm myself one of these days." He nudged the phones together indicatively.

Jo shrugged. "Sure, guess it's okay."

With an absent smile, Jenning pressed a button on his phone and tapped the heads of the phones together. There was a chipper tone, and Jenning looked at the face of his phone and smiled. "All done. You're in my contacts, Joel."

"Jo," he corrected automatically, and as Jenning passed his phone back, he felt a slip of paper money under his fingertips. Jenning didn't flinch, his smirk only curving deeper.

"Jo, then. I'll certainly call you." He tucked his hands in his pockets and set his shoulders back, though his head was still hunched forward, studying Jo like a specimen, as Jo peeled a ten-dollar bill off the back of his phone. "For now, though, I'm expecting company. One more drink for the road?"

"Oh, sure, yeah." He trashed the empty water bottle into a can positioned near the edge of the deck, and set his phone down on the railing behind him to accept another bottle of water. "Thanks, Doctor Jenn-" He paused, remembering something. "Or, uh, do you prefer Father?"

Jenning's eyes sparked, his smirk twitched. "Either's fine."

The way Jenning watched him, as he lifted the bottle to his lips, gave him chills. He understood why Gage was unnerved by the guy. Plus, that combination of shaggy, messy dark hair, glasses, and a smile that didn't stop was writhing in Jo's gut like a tapeworm, so he pushed himself off the railing and trudged towards the glass doors, avoiding Jenning's apprising eye. "I, uh, I actually need to get going."

Jenning saw him out, his smile still as outwardly friendly as could be, and Jo retrieved his bike from the mailbox and rode a few blocks away. He knew he had to go home, or at least let Harley know where he was after all this time. He went into his back pocket for his phone, but found himself patting empty space.

As if he needed more trouble. His phone was gone, and he needed it! He thought back, and remembered that he'd had it not ten minutes ago on Jenning's back deck. He'd probably dropped it then, or maybe left it sitting- shit! He screeched to a halt, finding yet one more good reason not to go home just yet. Jenning had probably found it already, all he needed to do was knock and ask, right?

When he got back to Jenning's house, there was another car in the driveway, a silver Mercedes convertible. Shit, his meeting. Jo ran for the door and knocked, but there was no answer. He groaned under his breath, and came up with a tiny glimmer of hope- that he'd knocked the thing off the deck. He tiptoed around the hedges, which swished around just to spite him, and to the back yard of the house, down under the veranda, and spotted his phone in a bush beside one of the support beams. He snatched it up, his arm brushing through crunching leaves, and dusted it off. Looked like it was in good working order. He was about to flip it open and call Harley, when he heard the door open above him, and a vaguely familiar snide tone:

"Always with those hands of yours!"

And an answering, sly, "I'd say they were rather talented, Genie."

Genie was up there. The woman he'd taken the delivery from. Oh, this could get awkward, not to mention get him in trouble with his boss real fast if a customer caught him snooping around. He tried to make for the front of the house, but when he tried to push back through the hedge to get out, it rustled, and he grimaced. Yeah, they were going to hear him. Best to wait, wait for an opening, and sneak out when they went back inside. He could hear the boards above creak softly, and the clap-clap-clap of stiletto heels on the polished wood, and held his breath. Jenning chuckled a bit, and Jo saw, between the gaps in the deck boards, his shape move to stand near a dark square- the boxes, shit, they were going to have their whole damned meeting out here, weren't they? Jenning, as if to prove Jo's suspicion, opened a lid, and Jo heard him flipping through heavy paper. "Still, I was astonished you sent a courier. You would entrust such important materials to some anonymous boy off the street rather than cart them to me personally?"

"And chip a nail?" Genie scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous." Jo felt his stomach acid burn, even as Jenning laughed humorlessly at her protest.

"I had thought that was what you'd say, dear." Jo heard the rustle of paper. "Goodness, you did get a lot of them, didn't you?"

"Ten more cases still pending, but that's what we have so far," Genie answered, and Jo heard her settle into one of the lounge chairs. There was a clink of water pouring onto ice, loud in the silent confines of the surrounding woods. "I expect the courts will try to push them through, smooth and easy. They're sick of seeing me and my associates." She giggled. "I owe it all to you, Daddy." Jo swallowed a gag reflex- when Gage called Father Steele 'Dad,' it was cute. A fully grown woman calling a priest 'Daddy,' there was something wrong about that. "This next round will push us past three hundred known gang members busted from the hoosegow, all on one silly, silly error you found in the paperwork." She rolled on the chair, the ice in her glass clinking as she swirled it around. "You're a miracle man, darling."

"Anything to make you happy, princess." Jenning took a seat with a few of the files in his lap. Genie, at the same time, sat up a bit.

"You know what you need to do to make me happy- and it's not that thing with your tongue, either." Jo heard Jenning make a noise of mock disappointment. "They're talking about setting a new execution date for G. Maoh. I'd like him out on the streets and back home with Mama before they have a chance."

Jo's mouth went dry. He knew that name. He clamped his lips shut and quickly flipped through his apps on his phone, found a recorder, turned it on, and held it up, because if she meant what he thought she meant, then he was about to hear some serious shit. Jenning turned a page with an audible flap, as Genie swung up from her seat and went to stand behind his, slinging an arm around his shoulder from behind and putting her lips near his cheek. "So tell me, Daddy, when are we putting together this little break?"

Oh, shit, she meant exactly what he thought she meant.

"Oh, Genie," Jenning sighed, and turned over his shoulder to kiss her lips briefly, chastely. "First, tell me what you have in mind."

"Well." Genie plopped herself right on his lap, barely giving him a chance to pull the file out of her way. "My poor, darling lovebug's still holed up in the SHU-" Solitary Housing Unit, Jo knew that one, but when it came to that man, what else could he expect? "- and I'm having his attorneys file anything and everything they have to delay the execution- on the sly, of course." She swung her legs over the arm of the chair, and he continued to read from the file as she cuddled herself on his shoulder. "My name can't be anywhere near it. There are enough Maohs in this town that my name might just be coincidence, but some things are a little too coincidental."

Jenning chuckled appreciatively, and ran one hand up and down the stretch of her leg. "Good girl."

"And, of course, the second anything gets said about G. Maoh in a public forum, there'll be some... stir... in the anti-death-penalty groups."

"They're not easily bought."

"I don't have to buy them. Those crazies will do it on their own." Genie mock-sniffled, then threw herself across the chair as if it were a chaise. "One weepy open letter from a devastated wife, with a teenaged daughter who has never known her dear Papa, and there'll be riots." Genie pulled her knees in and giggled, as Jo's stomach turned. She switched from her dramatic persona to wicked, middle-school-girl giggles at pauses and punctuation as slick as taking off or putting on her silk robes. He tried not to get headspin from the panic, focusing all his energy on staying completely, utterly still. "And then, of course..." Genie rolled up to a sit, planting her palms on Jenning's shoulder. "There just might be some rioting the day of the break, too. Somewhere away from the jail."

"Oh?" Jenning sounded interested at this, but he hadn't stopped reviewing the file. "You have a plan?"

"I know how to start a riot. The Quarter's a tinderbox, one match will set it all off, and have I got the spark in mind." Genie cocked her head back, smirking. Jo could hear it in her voice. Jenning, too, seemed unduly pleased at the notion.

"Smart girl." He stroked her hair, and put the file down. "You've done your homework."

"I do what I have to. All for my Snookums." Genie sighed, wistfully, almost, and Jo's stomach acid bubbled up and burned at the bottom of his throat. How could she laugh and flirt and giggle when she was talking about- "Now, the jail break, Daddy."

Jenning chuckled in response, crossing one leg over the other to dislodge Genie from his lap. Jo tiptoed backwards, up the incline towards the house, trying to lift his phone higher and closer. "A little patience, princess. I'm still reaching out to all the gentlemen doing the breaking." He set the file down on a table behind him. "The information you've provided me today will do wonders. I'll be talking to my contacts in the underworld tonight- Uriel has his work cut out for him."

Jo mouthed the name to himself: Uriel? Sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. It was weird enough to stick out, though.

Jenning went on, gesturing with one languid hand. "I'm still reaching out in the community, of course - funny, isn't it, how a man of God can so clearly influence those called sinners?"

Genie snorted, and set her hands on her hips, trying hard to look put-out. "Don't be melodramatic, Father."

"Now, now." Jenning clucked his tongue. "You should know that nearly ninety percent of all Shangri-La transplants are Catholic, or some odd mélange of Catholic and Buddhist. The criminal element, you'll find, tend to be religious by nature, or at least have some reverence towards more powerful forces." Genie huffed, but Jenning ignored her irritation in favor of digging out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. "I grew up learning that a priest is the only conduit to God. Why else would I become one?" He lit up, and Jo could smell cheap tobacco even a story down. "But I've done my work convincing nearly every priest in this town to consolidate the counseling of criminals to me." Jenning couldn't keep a note of amusement from his tone: "Even good old Tommy's weeping witnesses. I get plenty of good names from them."

"Oh, was that you, now?"

"I never said that, did I?" Jenning took a drag and exhaled. "It couldn't have happened at a more convenient time, though." Genie giggled, amused, and crossed one leg over the other. "But I've worked the angle well. Those who aren't taking bribes are easily blackmailed, and with O'Day out of the way, there are only a few holdouts remaining."

"Do tell." Despite her loose language and disinterested drumming on the arm of the chair, her acrylics  _click-click_ ing rapidfire on the wrought metal, her intent tone shouted that she was affixed.

Jenning finished his cigarette before answering. "Shalimar on the Northwest end. Won't take my calls. Poor Deacon Hassan has to." He pushed his fingers up over his lips to smother a chuckle. "Practically fresh off the boat, accent worse than tech support, has to keep telling me the Father's not available." Jenning crossed his legs, jerking one knee with impatience and tapping his heel against the wood. "I could just blackmail the man- he's got something in that cassock of his that would have him defrocked- but since his parish is nowhere near Our Lady of Peace, and his specialty doesn't directly affect me, I'll let him be unless he gets wise." Jo couldn't help but wonder what he meant about Shalimar, but the next few words knocked any stray thoughts back into line: "And then, of course, Father Steele."

Jo's intestines twisted into icy gelatin, even as Genie carelessly scoffed. "Isn't he dead?"

"Connor Steele, yes, ten years ago. His adopted son, Gabriel Steele, has taken his place." Jenning chuckled, slouching forward and tenting his fingers. "Met him a few times as a tot, hardly even introduced himself except, 'I'm just here with the Father.' This one's a bear-trap, tight-lipped, and always so annoyingly serious. But K-One, right in the center of town, is under his iron fist- Steele glove, the whole shebang." He laughed at his own pun. Genie didn't. Jenning hunched in a little further and went on. "You know how much trouble the last Steele caused. I'd very much like this one's cooperation."

"So why haven't you gotten it?" Genie folded her arms, her eyebrow raised, stiletto jiggling impatiently. "Bribe him, blackmail him."

"Well, princess, I've nothing to blackmail him with." Jennings raised both hands in a shrug. "He's stoic, but he's clean. Too young, too pure, too innocent. Nothing I can use. I could even threaten to make something up about his young ward, but there's too many people close to them that could debunk it." He sighed, his back slouching a little further. "And from what I know, he'll never take a bribe. I've made him valuable offers before- education, loans, recommendations for promotion to a more desirable parish, but he's interested in none of it." He rolled his shoulders back and tipped his head back to rub his chin. Jo, heart racing, got on tiptoe, trying harder and harder to catch more. "I might be able to convince him to, if nothing else step aside, but..."

"But?" It came out as a demand, and Jo was finding that her mood swings were really starting to unnerve him now.

Jenning, cool as ever, shrugged again. "He won't take my calls either. Won't speak to me. Never has time for an old friend of his Father's." He sat back in his chair. "No worries, though. I know how to bend Steele. It simply may take..." He wiggled an eyebrow. "Holy intervention."

"Ohh." Genie giggled, then cackled. "Oh, you're too funny." She clapped her hands together. "Do it. Call Uriel. I'll pay his fee if I must. If that's what you need, I'll take care of it."

"Princess, money's not the problem." He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek, then patted her backside. "But don't you worry. As soon as I've talked to all my people, we'll set a date to reunite you and big bad Mr. Maoh."

Jo was barely listening anymore. His whole body had erupted in chills, because he'd put it together. He'd heard Benny whisper it to some of his cohorts once:

_"Yeah, Uriel's guys've been spotted working on the tenth-street dockyards. Steer clear, boys, you don't want to let the Holy Men catch you where they wanna be..."_

Uriel. A Holy Man Exec. The only actual name he'd ever heard out of the Holy Men. And they were just going to call him in like a mercenary. And he was working with these two creeps to bust out a name he'd only heard in rumor on the jail block.

He could still hear Genie and Jenning talking, but Genie was cozying herself into Jenning's lap again, and then less talking and a lot more wet, smacking lips against skin. Jo killed the recording and stared at his phone. There it was, twenty minutes, uninterrupted, of the most horrible stuff he'd ever heard two people laugh about. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, pushed his way back through the bushes and bolted for the street. He had just enough consciousness of mind to snap photographs of the house and the cars in front of it, before jumping onto his bike and hitting the pedals as hard as he could.

Of course, since he was no longer under the porch, he didn't see Genie leaning over the railing and scowling down at the space below. "I'm sure I heard something," she reported, then whipped back around to face Jenning with her lips warped into an ugly snarl. "What are you going to do about this?"

"Oh, come now." Jenning continued unbuttoning his shirt, and kicked his bunny slippers off. "I have a feeling I know who it was, and I know precisely how to deal with it."

"Hmph." Genie's scowl twisted back into a smirk, but the malice didn't leave her face, still hung in the curl of her brow, and she slunk back towards Jenning, then sank back into his lap. "One more bullet won't cost too much, will it?" She straddled his legs, and he slung one arm to hold her to his chest, but reached past her to grab another file from the open box of court records.

"It might be much easier than you think." He dropped the file on top, right where he would find it, then let Genie pull him back into her embrace.

* * *

Jo had no idea he could pedal so quickly, speeding across the vast city until trees gave way to steel, concrete, iron streetlights and pedestrians roaming the crosswalks with no regard for the cars and trucks speeding towards them. Jo, too, was deaf to the roar, blind to the hustle and bustle, with all his other heavy thoughts pushing him down and only one cogent one: that he had never been in deeper shit in his life.

The five flights of stairs, all the way up, were nothing, even with his bike on his back, and he burst through his door with force he could barely control. Harley stood, frozen now, at Haku's cage, holding a plastic cup bent over his bowl. His eyes widened with shock for a moment, but it was quickly swallowed by neutral pleasantry. "I had begun to worry. You were gone quite a long time." Harley put the cup in the sink and approached Jo, as the door swung shut behind him and Jo's arms went limp at his sides. Harley had a hand out to touch his, but a small frown drove at his eyebrows and cheeks as he perused Jo's face. "Are you alright? You look ill. Are you still sick from the hangover?" Harley's hand finally landed on Jo's, and that burst of warmth exploded through Jo's head like a kaleidoscope of colors, and Jo had to close his eyes and shake it off, because  _faggot pervert moron you'll hurt him_. Jo turned around to drop his bike off of his shoulder, then leaned on the wall to catch his breath and compose himself. There were so many things he needed to say to Harley, and he didn't know where to start.

Probably the threat to Father Steele and the rest of their city.

"Harley, I..." Jo's face twisted, as he fumbled to string words together, and he grimaced into the wall. "I..."

Harley's brow wrought, and though his hands came out to touch Jo's back, he stopped short, hands hovering near him. "Joel..." Jo heard him sigh. "Joel, about last night..."

There was a knock at the door, and Jo jumped back. He and Harley traded bewildered looks, and Jo took a pensive step back into the entry hall. The knocking only got louder as Jo hesitated, and the hinges started to shake. "Fucking what!?" Jo flung the door wide. "What the fuck do you wa-"

Then, everything stopped, and Jo froze completely, eyes wide as he took in the person on the other side of the door. Long and skinny limbs, dirty clothes, baggy pants and leather jacket befitting a punker, a sharp chin and eyes, buzz-cut blonde hair, and eyebrows that had been plucked thin like a Shangri-la  _yakuza_  or a cancer patient.

"'Zat how you greet an old pal, Jojo?" Benny smirked at him from the doorway, and Jo stumbled back, jaw agape, dumb with shock. "I really should'a taught you better manners."

For all his brain was functioning anymore, Jo might as well have been held underwater.


	16. Like a Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny's back, bringing chaos. Luckily, Jo knows a thing or two about chaos.

**Staying Straight**

**16: Like a Hurricane**

Benny threw Jo's refrigerator wide and snatched up a bottle of beer, then dropped himself into one of the two kitchen chairs and slung his feet onto the table. Jo, dumbstruck, hadn't the sense to stop him, as Harley's face warred shock with disgust under a flat mask. Jo could only tell he was upset from his quivering eyebrows, but there was just a little too much going on for him to try and make sense of it all. He tugged Harley's shoulder, and gestured nervously. "Uh, Harl, this is Benny. He watched me some when I was little, 'fore I went to the slammer." Harley seemed to pick up on Jo's anxiety, eyebrows still raised, but offered a hand to Benny.

"The pleasure is, surely, mine."

Benny squinted at Harley's hand suspiciously, then slapped it in an awkward high-five. "Guess you're the one taking care of little Jojo now, eh?" He hopped up from the chair to circle around Harley, and wheezed out a little snicker as he eyed Jo. "Man, I go away for a couple years and you go all fag on me, huh?" Harley stiffened, as Jo's face fell.

"It ain't like that." Jo tossed Harley an ashamed, plaintive expression from under his tangled bangs. "He's my roommate. We're just buddies." Jo's stomach flopped again, as Harley dipped his gaze down and away.

Benny, meanwhile, just laughed aloud and slapping Jo on the back. "Jeez, don't look like such a fucking sad sack! I'm kidding, kidding! Come on, where's a smile for your old pal?" He grabbed Jo's collarbone and gave him a jostle, then tipped his forehead up. "Shit, lookit'chu." He compared their heights, holding a palm flat between the top of his head and Jo's. "You got fuckin' tall!" Jo grimaced a little as Benny tapped the top of his head. "You're what, six-one, six-two?" He laughed, then turned a broad grin to Harley as he put his elbow on Jo's head and mussed his hair a little more. "This motherfucker was tall before he went away, how the fuck'd you grow another six inches in the slammer?" He pushed off of Jo, knocking him back a little, and dropped back into the kitchen chair as easy as you might drop a penny down a well. Jo, to his credit, did his best to rake his hair back into place and shuffled over to sit in the other chair, facing him.

"I was in juvy for most of my sentence. It was more like a shitty boarding school than actual jail-jail." He managed a shrug, and slumped to lean an elbow on the table. Benny just scoffed, spattering a little beer onto his own face.

"Lucky little punk, damn lucky they decided you were a kid." He took another long swallow from the bottle, draining it, then tossed it into the sink. It shattered with a raucous crash, and Harley inhaled audibly and rushed over to move the plates and cups already in the sink out of the way. Jo winced, but Benny just leaned back in the chair to fling the fridge open, nipped out a fresh bottle, and cracked it open on the edge of the table. He flipped the cap towards the trash can, missing it by a good yard, but gave himself cheers and took another swig as if he'd still made the shot. He quirked an eyebrow at Jo. "Your old pal Benny here got fingered for a Crow and sat in the SHU for the last seven years."

"Seven years in solitary?" Jo raised an eyebrow right back, and Benny snickered and tapped the bottle against his temple.

"That's what they do to ya when you're a marked member." The feather mark was still there, a little faded and scarred, but obvious. "They know you get strong when you get friends, so they pen you up all by your fuckin' lonesome. Some guys just lose their fuckin' minds, but me, whatever." He took another sip. "I was already there."

"Huh." Jo frowned as Benny drained the second bottle in another long chug. "So, uh, how long you been on parole?"

"Ain't on parole, Jojo."

"Quit callin' me that fuckin' baby name." Jo's upper lip curled, but Benny ignored him.

"Jury error." The words rolled off his tongue, hot and sour, but the expression he wore was like a drop of sugar right on his tongue. Jo's eyes widened, and he grounded his heels. Harley seemed to notice, lifting his head from picking broken glass out of the sink, as Benny shrugged with an open hand. "This pro-boner lawyer-"

"Pro bono," Harley corrected under his breath, but Benny whipped right around.

"Naw, man, pro-boner." He set a fist right in his crotch, then made his middle finger spring up. "Boi-yoi-yoing! Pro-boner!" He cackled, and turned right back around to Jo, ignoring Harley's faint twitch of disgust that Jo couldn't possibly miss. "She comes along, tells me they-" He pointed up- "fucked up, and if I just sign some papers, I can get out." He snickered and kicked his legs out, as Jo's eyes went a little wider. "I ain't even gotta pay her! She just wants to keep my number, y'know, in case she needs any favors." He winked, clicking his tongue, and Jo felt chills all down his back that set his spine at a sharp right angle.

He knew exactly who he meant.

"S'matter with you?" Benny leaned in. "You look sick."

"Nah," Jo shook his head and shook it off. "Just..." He winced, his face falling, and he caught himself with an elbow on the table, half-sprawling, unable to hold himself together. He had to swallow air thicker than molasses before he could make himself speak. "Fuck. Thought I'd never see you again."

"Well, Jojo, you're a hard man to find." Benny jostled Jo's arm. "I mean, check you out, you really are a man now." He laughed again, and Jo managed a laugh back under his breath, one he couldn't make himself mean. Harley glanced around as he circled the table to bring the trash can to the sink, taking in Jo's form and releasing a soft sigh. Jo felt it as much as heard it, and tried to sink into his chair. Benny clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, still eyeballing Jo. "They shouldn't'a charged you, though. You were a kid."

"Eh." Jo lifted his eyes just enough to shoot Benny a hard look. "They said someone squealed on me."

"Oh, they pulled that line on ya?" Benny whistled. "You believed that shit? They just feed ya that shit to make you flip."

"Zat so?" Jo raised an eyebrow, and Benny lifted both hands in an 'I-surrender.'

"Jojo, kid, you think ol' Benny would go stool pigeon? Why the fuck would I ever give shit to the fucking pigs? C'mon, I'm a man of my people." He ruffled Jo's hair, setting his bangs and the front of his hair into tangles. Jo pressed his lips together, studying Benny's easygoing smile and relaxed shoulders. Looking at his old friend like that only served to remind him that this guy, for no good reason, used to pour him cereal in the mornings, tuck him in at night, and brought him clothes that weren't torn and muddy. Sure, Benny'd vanish sometimes, but he didn't have much good reason to rat Jo out. Benny, meanwhile, sat back and stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket. "So, what're you doin' now?" He nodded behind Jo, indicating the bike. "You some kind of exercise freak, hippie, whatever?"

"Bike courier." Jo glanced back at the bike, then back to Benny, who hid a snigger.

"You a delivery boy?"

"Courier." Jo's voice and face were hot now. Benny couldn't help but snicker aloud this time.

"Guess that's what's got you in the lap o'luxury here, with your fuckin' roommate." He jerked his shoulder towards Harley, who pursed his lips and dropped the trashcan back in its place, a bit heavier than he had to.

"We're quite satisfied here." Harley folded his arms, his expression and affect flat. "We may not have much, but we make an honest living at our respective professions and get by."

Thank God for Harley's clear thinking. Jo wished he could talk so smooth when someone was riling him up. Benny, of course, scoffed, his lips sputtering as he broke into nasty laughter.

"Yeah, sure, whatever lets you sleep at night on one fuckin' bed."

"The couch is comfy." Jo folded his arms.

"Whatever you say, Jojo." Benny's lips quirked up, and he leaned an elbow onto the table. "Well, bottom line is, I already heard from the guys upstairs. Sayin' if I go along with somethin' big they got brewin', there's a lot of money in it for me." He snorted into a smirk. "Plus, what they call, 'side benefits.' How 'bout you, Jojo?" Benny slung a hand forward, fingers out, thumb up for a weirdly stiff handshake. "You want a cut?"

Jo didn't have to think about it, and all but flung himself away from Benny's hand and into the back of his chair. "You think I wanna go back to jail? You gotta be crazy."

Benny, to Jo's surprise, laughed low, and settled back into his chair. "We're all a little crazy, Jojo." He twirled one finger next to his temple, his lips forming a thin, malicious smirk. "S'just a matter of who chooses to control it..." His dark, wild gaze landed on Harley and lingered, before slinging right back around to focus on Jo. "And who chooses to use it." He didn't wait for more, but pushed himself up to a stand with a weary little sigh. "Still. I can tell when I ain't wanted." He grabbed Harley's grocery pad and pen and scratched his phone number down. "If you change your mind, get sick of the grind and slavin' for people who think they're better than you can ever be, and figure out you're gonna be riding that ugly fuckin' bike until the day you croak, give ol' Benny a call." He trudged towards the door, and Jo followed him. Benny did wave back at Harley where he stood, stark still, hands trembling as he hovered behind the trash can.

"I'll see ya, Benny," Jo muttered under his breath, and closed the door as he left. Then, he turned his back to the door and slumped against it. Harley dropped position and came to his side.

"Jo, you look so terribly tense." He patted Jo's shoulder. "Come, sit, let me get you some water and an aspirin. Have you had anything to eat today?"

"No, been too queasy." Jo glanced at the clock and grimaced. He had no idea when it had gotten this late, but he hadn't felt even a little hungry since the morning. When Harley tried to move him towards the table though, that sick feeling just swirled up through him to remind him of why. "Harl, I-"

"I was just going to order in tonight, but I'll get you a snack that just might help." Harley gently guided Jo back to the chair, and Jo put his head down as Harley put something into the microwave. Jo smelled butter and heard crisp, popping noises, and smiled under the fall of his hair, even as Harley sprayed cleaner onto the chair Benny had occupied and wiped it off. Then, a bowl of popcorn landed in front of him. "Carbohydrates and fat. Let's see if that doesn't pep you up, yes?" Jo lifted his eyes to see Harley beaming down at him. "Seeing him has clearly stressed you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Ain't you, man." Jo took a bite of the popcorn, and though it melted in his mouth, seeing Harley sit down across from him just made the good, warm feeling melt away. Harley studied his face, and hummed.

"I wonder, though." Jo raised an eyebrow, and Harley laced his fingers on the table and lowered his gaze. "If he'd come and found you before we met. If you wouldn't... I suppose you're not that crazy." Harley dismissed it, but Jo couldn't shake it. He just ate a few more pieces of popcorn in silence, his stomach still arguing that he didn't want it, that it'd rather let the stomach acid consume it than even dare to nourish him. Finally, Harley sighed and dropped his casual smile. "Joel, I- last night, I- you must think me terrible."

"Harl, don't." Jo felt a sting of panic at the sudden deep hurt apparent on Harley's face, and shook his head. "This ain't-"

"You've been so distraught, I- Was it-"

"Harl, it just... it happened, okay?" Jo put his hands flat on the table, as Harley wrung his hands and brow tight, pinching all the muscles of his face and fingers. "Don't, don't second guess this. What happened, it's just something that happened, okay?" His stomach turned, but this was a little higher. It felt like someone was twisting a bolt in his chest. He shivered, and dug into his pocket. "Look, we got bigger problems."

Harley froze, bewildered, as Jo's eyebrows knit up with anxiety. "I got called to take a delivery. But I hung around too long, and... shit, they were talking about... fuck." Jo groaned and put his phone on the table. "Just listen, okay?"

He let the recording play. Harley looked confused at first, but the second the word "break" was said, he swallowed air and clamped his hands over his mouth. "Are they talking about a jail break?" Jo nodded, but pointed to the phone and mouthed, 'Keep listening.'

Harley listened, but he reacted aloud with all the things Jo would have said throughout the conversation if he hadn't been forcing himself to stay quiet. "This woman's freeing criminals deliberately? On a technicality- why would anybody..."

"Who is this man, why would he help her?"

"God, Jo, he's talking about Father Steele!"

"I know, I know," Jo hissed back, and covered his face with his hands as the recording went on. When the player stopped, Jo forced himself to meet Harley's eyes, and spoke, weakly, "That lady's some lawyer. That guy, though... that's Neil Jenning." He took out the cardstock he'd been given with the name and address. Harley accepted it, his hand shaking as he reached across the table, and read it over unnecessarily. "I even took photos of the house and stuff." Jo shook his head and slumped over the table. "You know who Kuan Maoh is?" Harley shook his head, eyes wide, and Jo bit his lower lip, before making himself go on. "He goes by G Maoh. He's a fucking legend in the streets. Been locked up on death row since before I came to town, but Benny..." Jo cringed. "Benny told me all about it." Harley leaned in, entreating Jo for more, and Jo put his hands on his forehead and rubbed hard at the skin. "He was a monster. Ran with the Bulls, they say he founded 'em. Benny said that there's more graves in this town from Maoh's finger pointing the wrong direction than from fucking polio and shit like that. But his thing was, he wanted more."

"More?"

"Power. Money. Territory. He was a hungry fucker." Jo grimaced and folded his knees under the chair, the overhead light beating down to abuse his aching head. "He was tryin' to unite all four Little Shangri-La gangs."

"Four? I thought you said there were ive."

"The Holy Men didn't pop up 'til after he got popped." Jo met Harley's gaze for a moment, then broke it. "You can imagine what sorta shit would go down if all the gangs started working together, right?" He broke his cigarette box out and lit up, sucking the smoke deep as if it could fill his fingertips with something steadier than cold water. "Gangsters outnumber cops, and if they get a good cash flow wrecking the Business District, they get bigger weapons, more bullets, more people tempted to get their cut." He shut his eyes, and slowly shook his head side to side, then tilted his head to look out the window at the city, shades of sickly yellow and orange in the fading daylight. "Benny said that Shangri-La would'a risen up on Chance Harbor like a fuckin' hurricane, take everything it's got, and crush anyone who tried to stop it."

Harley pressed both hands over his mouth. Jo managed to cast him a sidelong look. "Thing is, it fell apart. G Maoh got popped on a minor charge. Tax issue or whatever. Most of the time, it would'a been an in-and-out stay in jail, and he could afford lawyers that'd take good care of him. Nobody's gonna testify against an exec, anyone who could testify against him would probably already be dead or on his payroll. They figure the deal'd go down once he made bail." Jo scratched his jaw, then set his chin in his palm as he thought. "Way Benny told it, though, some priest actually fingered him on a murder. After that, a good fifty people came forward to give eyewitness accounts, and suddenly, what everyone already knew about G Maoh was getting spelled out in a courtroom. No way out, and the prosecutor didn't offer a plea deal. He got put away on death row. Every few years, they talk about actually putting the needle to him, but it keeps getting pushed back. Appeals, whatever. But when he got shut away, the deal to unite the gangs fell to pieces." Harley's lips pressed tight together, his knuckles white where they were laced in front of him. "And now this." Jo grabbed his phone and held it up. "Someone's actually trying to pull together the manpower to bust him out. This is a fucking nightmare." Jo caught his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his scalp.

"Jo..." Harley extended a hand, but Jo threw both hands out and pushed him back.

"I mean, you know what kind of guy he is?!" He turned frantically to Harley, eyes wide, face wrought in panic. "The motherfucker had fingers all up and down the eastern seaboard, straight out to Chicago. Benny said he even had ties to the old country. They got  _yakuza_  in Shangri-La, half of 'em empire thugs, half of 'em using the resistance fighters, but they say Maoh fucked with both just to keep both of 'em funding him and him funding them back. Fuck, they say he was even making the fighting worse on purpose over there, like some sort of puppetmaster. Just, like, why? I don't even get it." Jo was shaking now, and nearly doubled over. "And this bitch wants to bring him back! It's like I walked into a fucking zombie ritual, raising that fucking monster from the dead, and for what?!"

Harley shushed him, and rose from his seat to circle around and put his hands on Jo's shoulders. "It's alright, Jo, I promise you that it is. You were there, you heard everything, you can put a stop to it." He knelt down, forcing Jo to meet his eyes. "You can talk to the police."

"I can't, they'll never believe me."

"You have very solid evidence, and it's very clear what they're talking about." Harley put both hands on Jo's knee like a knight-errant. "If nothing else, they can bulk up security at the correctional facility. You could bring an end to all this."

Jo bit his lip, and dodged Harley's gaze again. "Maybe... if the Padre-"

"We shouldn't let Father Steele hear about this if we don't have to." Harley's hand stiffened. Jo noticed the oddly shuttered look in his eyes. "He's enough of a recluse. If we can do this without involving him-"

"Kenny." Jo nodded firmly. "The cops'll listen to Kenny. Me, I'm nothing but a stupid ex-con creep, they'll never believe it coming from me." He shook his head, hair swaying in front of his eyes again.

"If you must take someone, then do." Harley moved his hand to Jo's cheek. "Your boss is a reliable man, from what you've told me. We'll be okay. I'm on your side."

Jo wanted to thank him, but Harley's touch was too intimate, too close, and as much as Jo wanted someone to comfort him, for some reason, he couldn't stand it being Harley right now. He drew himself back, scooting his chair away and rising to his feet. "I know." He swaggered towards the window to light a cigarette, as Harley rose after him, frozen, hand still extended. Finally, Harley took a break and, from the new steadiness in his voice, gathered his composure.

"The photographs- that was smart. The tech department should be able to get the datestamps off of the photograph and recording and prove you were at the location. And your memory is excellent. You really are much more intelligent than you give yourself credit for."

"So I'm nosy," Jo muttered. "And I got a memory like a loan shark. I still ain't nothin' but a cockroach." He sucked the last of the cigarette down and smashed the butt on the sill. Harley winced, but Jo turned around. "I'm sorry, but I need some air. Maybe a stiff drink."

"I'll come with you."

"I need that stiff drink alone." Jo snatched his jacket off the peg, not caring that he was still sweat-soaked nor that his hair was tangled, and strode past Harley, barely able to even look at him.

Too much had just come to pass, and Jo couldn't process it with those eyes staring through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The basic gist of an actual conversation I had with my husband about G Maoh:
> 
> "Hey honey, help me think of a badass Chinese name that starts with a G."
> 
> "How about Guan Yu, from Romance of the Three Kingdoms?"
> 
> "Bitchin'. Wikipedia says Kuan Yu, but I'm still going with it."
> 
> More soon. Let me know what you thought!


	17. Sadly, the Same Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes face their most difficult day yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow or other, I managed to crank out an update for this story every week this past month. Let's finish it off strong!
> 
> The chapter title is a reference to the Modest Mouse song "Float On." Nothing especially significant, but it's there.

**17: Sadly, the Same Day**

Monday morning came cold and humid, and Harley ensured he had his umbrella under one arm and Haku's cage in his other hand as he left the apartment and crossed into the dank hall. "Miserable weather, huh?" Harley started at the sudden interjection, only to see Sana, propped against the wall with her arms folded, one pigtail twisted around her finger. "Father Steele keeps muttering about how much rain we've had."

"He dislikes rain." Harley surprised himself at how he answered without a thought, but quickly shook it off. "Sana, I didn't know you lived here. Jo never told me-"

"Jo never sees anything two feet in front of his own nose." Sana turned her nose up. "Mama told me not to talk to him anyway. When he first moved in, she gave him some soup as a welcome, and he freaked and spit it out. She hasn't really forgiven him for wasting food. Me, I guess some men can't handle their fish guts." She cast a wary eye past Harley's shoulder. "Where is the dumb lug, anyway?"

"Oh. Out." Harley's face fell. "He's, er, been very distressed of late. I don't think I've seen him outside of when he came in late Saturday night, and then he was gone again Sunday morning with hardly two words to me."

"Distressed." Sana sounded unimpressed. "What, did some girl finally hurt him?"

"Something like that." Harley locked the door behind him and turned, but halted when Sana jumped a step after him.

"Hey, uh, this is gonna sound dumb, but-" Harley glanced back to her, and she swallowed. "Y'know what, never mind." She rolled her shoulders back to the wall. "The hooker upstairs was asking for Jo. I'd tell you to pass it on, but I don't think he actually wants to talk to her."

"I'll let him know next I see him." Harley pursed his lips as he turned on his heel, and Sana frowned.

"Whatever you say." She let him take a few steps before speaking up again. "Uh, were you heading my way?"

"Towards K-One? I do usually walk past."

"Is it cool if I come with you?" Sana picked up her backpack and jogged to catch up with him before he could answer. "You, uh, you look kinda down. And I know Gage'll whine all day if you're upset."

"That's kind of you, Sana." Harley managed a smile, and the two approached the stairs together. She continued to study him, and Harley could tell she was arranging and rearranging words in her head. "Was there... something wrong?"

"I should be asking you that. You're acting weird. Weirder than normal." Sana rose an eyebrow. She took the steps down quickly, fleet legs and dainty feet scurrying down, then waited for Harley on each landing. "Seems like everyone I meet around this town is crazy."

"Hm." Harley's eyebrows knit up of their own accord. "In a sense, perhaps."

"Even little Gage." Sana sniffed as Harley passed her, then jogged down the next flight to wait again. "He takes medicine from Father Steele's pocket, since Steele doesn't trust anyone around it, so it's gotta be heavy stuff. Don't you think that's crazy? A kid that little, taking hard stuff? I think it's sick. There's gotta be a better way for him to deal with his issues, just let him be himself, y'know?"

"I see." Harley frowned as he circled past her. "Some people need that sort of control. Even the younger set. Without his medicines, Gage, by all accounts, throws immense, uncontrollable tantrums."

"Yeah, but-"

"The last I heard, he could crack drywall with his tantrums, and that was when he was small to the point where hospital security was hesitant to use Tazers on him. He's bigger now- perhaps not big enough to be Tazed, but bigger- and I don't want to know what he could break at his size." That seemed to put a pin in Sana's lip, and she had the courtesy to look apologetic when he met her on the bottom landing. He forced another smile. "I think that we all know our limits. Do you think you're crazy?" Sana's gaze flashed up to Harley's face, then back to the floor, and she shrugged.

"Mama drives me crazy. Does that count?"

Harley laughed, but it sounded even more hollow in the acoustics of the stairwell. "In a way. But we all must take care of ourselves as we best see fit. You'd probably view me unkindly if you knew what kind of medicines I needed to maintain my sanity."

"Yeah?" Sana followed Harley as he pushed the door to the outside open and stepped past him when he held it for her. "What do you need?"

Harley took a breath and sighed it out, casting his gaze over the drab skyline of the tenements and crumbling buildings. "Lots of things." He wondered if the one he needed most was anywhere nearby, but he had no way of knowing. Instead, he turned back to Sana with the same pasted-on smile he had mastered for his therapist and for people he was loathe to speak with. "How goes school? Do you think you'll stay with the work-study program for the whole year?" With that, he successfully distracted Sana from digging deeper into him, but even as she grimaced and started to tell him about her troubles with algebra, Harley was stuck on Geography.

Where in the world could Jo have been?

* * *

 

Jo couldn't remember ever having trouble sleeping before. He'd slept in back alleys on piles of trash, curled in the luggage compartment of a Greyhound, on Benny's sunken-in armchair, on his own sofa for months, but he usually fell out like a rock once he got himself in a good position. Now, he'd spent six hours laying awake on a deep, quilted pillowtop with a woman's arm slung over his chest, motionless and flat on his back, right where he'd been knocked.

He'd left his apartment in the middle of Saturday and started walking, and didn't stop until he'd dropped into a barstool at Heavy Sands. Jenning and Genie might have been evil, Emperor-Palpatine-level evil, but they tipped well, so between the wad of twenties Genie had tucked in his back pocket as if those pants had just come off and the fifty Jenning had pushed into his hand with his phone, he had enough to get himself half-plastered and then gamble his funds back up so he could get completely shitfaced. He couldn't have done so fast enough.

He'd wandered back in Saturday night to find Harley tossing and turning in his bed, and instead of sleeping, ended up sitting on the sofa, staring at the contours of his friend's form through the sheet and fighting back nausea. He could figure out at least half of what he was feeling, mostly confusion and frustration, but the other half was something he couldn't name, and the mixture of the two just made him sick to his stomach. He fell asleep for a little while, but snapped awake near dawn when Harley said something aloud in his sleep, then laughed into his pillow. Jo grabbed a box of cereal and left, eating Cheerios by the fistful to absorb the alcohol still swirling in his gut. He meandered around the streets until the bars opened again, then went back in, gambled his funds up, got wasted, and went home with the first girl who showed interest.

The sex hadn't been good. Jo couldn't remember having bad sex before. Mediocre, maybe, and the pretty young thing he'd ended up with actually seemed to know what she was doing, so he was pretty sure he couldn't say it was her. She got off, of course, biting down on his shoulder and clenching the lithe muscles of her legs around his hips, but his own finish was half-assed and weak, and he hardly even felt it. Now he just felt sticky and flush with uncomfortable heat, with a strange little college girl draped over him and his mind somewhere else completely. He might have dozed, losing track of time, but he started and roused in an instant when his alarm blared out the first few bars of "Cult of Personality." His host woke up too, smiling at him over his breastbone.

"Morning," she crooned, all warm, desirous eyes and her tone dripping honey, and his insides ached.

"Morning." He moved to sit up, and she moved with him. He couldn't remember her name, he realized, as he studied her face and dragged his fingers through the knots in his hair. "Hey, did I get your number last night?"

He took a quick shower as she put her number in his phone. She offered breakfast, but he declined. "I gotta get to work. Kinda overslept already." He kissed her on her threshold, swiping the roof of her mouth with his tongue. "Hey, I'll call you, okay?"

She saw him off with a wink and a sultry "See ya later, Jojo."

He deleted her number the second he rounded the corner. She had been sweet, but Jo never wanted to see her again. Neil Jenning's phone number flashed up on the screen once hers was gone, and Jo shoved his phone away, not wanting to see that either. Still, keeping his number might have been at least a little wiser than losing it.

His bike was right where he'd left it, and he rode the rest of the way to the main office without stopping to eat. Too much in his head to even try to fill his stomach. He stopped at Aretha's desk, and she stared at him as if she'd scraped him off the bottom of her shoe.

"You look like shit, Jojo. Girlfriend break up with you or something?"

Jo tried to answer, but sick welled up to the base of his throat. He forced it back down, and only responded with a watery, "Is Ken busy? I really need to talk to him."

He took the two flights up like his shoes had been filled with concrete, and Ken glanced up from his desk when he ambled in. "Hell, I can smell you from here. What happened?" Lily, seated on the filing cabinet as usual, raised her nose up from her textbook, and Jo bit his lip.

"Kenny, I... I need to talk to you about something. Is there any way your sister can-"

"Lily, go work in the kitchen." Ken furrowed his brow, and Jo shut the door behind Lily as she scurried out of the room. Ken rose from his seat and leaned forward. "What the hell, Jo? You've never come to work this much of a mess."

Jo put his phone down on the desk, grimacing at the surface. "I fucked up bad and I don't know who else I can talk to. I'd go to the cops, but they ain't gonna believe me. You gotta believe me, I just walked into this. I got called on a Saturday delivery, this lady had me take this stuff to Doctor Neil Jenning-"

"The scientist?"

"Scientist, priest, whatever he wants to be."

Jo mumbled out the rest, how he'd had to go back for his phone, how he'd heard their conversation. "I heard her talk about G Maoh, and I just- I recorded the whole thing." He played the recording. Ken listened, eyes wide at the first words, and as the conversation went on, Jo crumpled into one of the chairs and buried his face in his hands. Ken, too, stood wide-eyed and dumbstruck. When the recording ended, Ken sank like a balloon with a thin hole into his chair, and let his head fall into his hands.

"Holy shit." Ken swallowed, and shook his head.

"Y-yeah." Jo hung his head. "I dunno what to do. I don't think the cops'll believe me-"

"That rotten fucking bitch!" Ken kicked the underside of his desk, then brought his fist down. "Plotting this- and you took a delivery from her?!" His head sprung up, eyes wide. "Hell, Jo, did you even check the DND?"

Jo's stomach turned to ice. "Fuck, I forgot." He snatched his phone up, but Ken seized his hand.

"That woman- Genie Maoh- she's at the top of it. That woman has always been a Do-Not-Deliver." Ken's face was wrought, teeth half-bared, brow furrowed in an ugly, enraged scowl. "Jo, tell me you forgot to give her my company's information." Jo inhaled sharply, and Ken roared aloud and threw the binders and papers beside him off of his desk. "You mean Genie Maoh has my goddamned home address and personal phone number?!" Jo cringed back in his seat.

"Oh, fuck, I was still drunk, it was an honest mistake." He put his hands on the desk, crumpling and pressing his forehead to the board. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry! I can fix this, just tell me what to do to make this right-"

"Get out."

Jo flinched. Ken's fists were on the desktop, and the chips were down. Those two growled words hit him like a rock through the glass pane of his heart, and he crumpled around it, shoulders dropping. No, come on, he told himself, man up. You knew Ken's rules, and you broke one. He collected himself enough to lift his face. "Okay, but we gotta do something about the stupid bitch's scheme. If they actually pull this off, and G Maoh gets out-"

"I can't get involved with this." Ken shook his head, not daring to lift his face towards Jo. His shoulders were tense and set back, his chest shaking. Jo felt what little remained of his confidence shrivel.

"Ken, I'm just a lowlife ex-con, the cops won't listen to me."

"I can't help you! If I even try, and that bitch finds out-"

The door creaked open, and Lily poked her nose in. "Kenny, are you okay?"

Ken hissed and bit off whatever else he was going to say. "I can't help you. I'm sorry. Please leave." His head sunk completely, and Jo felt like the last thread of his hope had been pulled out, leaving him stripped bare. Still, he forced himself up to his feet, legs shaking, and marched past Lily. He put his hand on her head as he passed.

"See ya round, sweetie." He forced a wobbly smile, and left, descending the stairs with his shoulders back and his head held high. He dropped his keys to the garage on Aretha's desk, and made himself look at her. "My bike's outside."

"You leavin', Jo?" Aretha raised an eyebrow at him. He stiffly nodded, and marched out.

Pretending he was even a scrap more confident than he was was the only thing keeping him from screaming or vomiting, but something was building in his throat, something that burned and ached. Jo wasn't sure what was left in there, what would come out of his stupid mouth if he opened it, but for once in his sorry life, he wasn't going to open it and find out.

* * *

Harley struggled to focus on the tasks at hand, wandering the office, checking his phone on occasion. He wished he could have gone with Jo to speak with his employer, but Jo hadn't asked. It wouldn't stop Harley from asking on his own behalf in a text message:  _"What did Ken say about the recording?"_

Jo hadn't responded, and it was nearly noon. Jo usually got back to him faster, and Harley couldn't guess what was delaying him. He imagined that the discussion had taken the two of them to the police station together, or possibly the FBI Bureau in the county. Without an answer, though, Harley had no way of knowing. Harley didn't like not knowing, he preferred being in situations where he could dissect every element, each part, and understand. Then again, he had been in such limbo- having things in his grasp and not quite being able to close his hands around them- for a few days now.

_"Jo, please contact me as soon as you can."_

He'd thought he'd understood. He'd thought he'd made himself clear. Now things were moving so quickly and so far from his control that he could feel himself struggling under their distant shadows as if their weight were tangible.

There was nothing to do for now, though, but wait for something to come out through it all.

Just when he'd brought out the lunches he'd made for the both of them, the bell down the stairs jingled. Harley's heart clenched, and he hurried to the door and turned his radio off to listen. Instead of the familiar clamor of Zack teasing Jo, there was a woman's voice.

"Zack, I need to see your progress."

Harley slumped, but his feet took him a curious step forward. This must have been the famous owner. Zack laughed nervously as Harley gradually slipped down each stair, answering in a timid babble, "Well, ya see, ma'am, there ain't nothing I can show ya yet. I keep gettin' through firewalls only to get caught up in their net- real high security, ya see-"

"I'm in no mood for your excuses." There was a pause, and Zack coughed, then sniffled. Harley peered around the corner to see a woman in her forties, dressed like an excessively, obsessively trendy woman in her thirties, wearing a fitted business suit, too much jewelry and even more makeup, berating Zack around a long, thin cigarette wrinkling between her index and middle fingers. Something in her voice sounded familiar to Harley, but he couldn't place it. "I've put too much time and effort into this for you to slow me up now."

"Ma'am, I'm tellin' ya." Zack wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "There's only so much I can do and so fast I can work. I've actually been meaning to ask, can I get the other guy on this?"

"The boy you hired to replace that last one?" She heaved a rolling sigh. "I entrusted you, Zack. Not the person you pulled off the street to take care of the other work."

"No, but Harl is great! I told ya, he's actually got some schooling in him, and he ain't as quick with code as me, but he's smart, and he's real fast!"

"Zack, I told you." Her knuckles had gone white, but Zack waved both of his hands as if he could ward her off.

"You ain't even met him yet, ma'am'-" He spun around and leaned into the stairwell. "Hey, Harl, c'mere!" He tugged Harley out into the open and put an uncomfortably tight arm around his shoulders. "This is Harley, he does all the hardware stuff!" Harley cringed, preparing for Zack to needle him for answers, but the woman he faced dropped her cigarette, her eyes first going wide, then narrowing to slits.

"You hired Harley Cho."

"Yes'm, and he's the best tech there is, 'cept for me!" Zack beamed and gave Harley a shake. "So—"

"I don't want that-  _him_  in my establishment." Her lip curled, and she stomped her dropped cigarette out onto the tile. Zack's arm dropped away, and Harley stumbled, his knees wobbling. "Find a new tech. I don't care who. And get him away from my property."

Harley's heart thundered, his stomach shuddered, and he nervously stepped towards her, a hand out. "I beg your pardon, madam, but this is the first we've met. I'm not entirely certain what I've done, but if you'll allow me a chance to rectify-"

"You know what you've done." Her nostrils flared, and she wrapped her cold, bony hand around his chin, her sharp nails digging into his cheek. "Murderer."

Harley felt his insides drop loose, as if he'd been gutted onto the floor. The woman threw Harley back, and he stumbled into the wall. He threw a desperate look to Zack, but Zack backed away, jaw clenched, face spread with fear. He cringed, and bowed his head. "I'll get my things." He hurried back up the stairs, unable to lift his eyes, unable to face someone who knew his secrets without knowing the rest of him, unable to face the storm that had emerged.

He gathered Haku, his lunch box, his little "tricorder" and all of his books, gathered himself as quick as he could, and hurried back down the stairs. He could hear Zack talking in a tremulous voice, "I've been picking at it, but the state firewalls are more careful than ever, and they seem to be putting up something new every time I check. Once I get in for good, though, I can put in a ghost and mirror it all back to me..." Zack was huddled in his chair when Harley passed, with the strange woman running her fingers on the back of his neck. She leaned down to his ear.

"Good boy. Think you can get it to me a little quicker?" Harley got chills, because he recognized her voice now as the same woman from the recording. He got a block away before dodging into an alcove, then worked his phone out from his pocket and checked his messages. Nothing from Jo. He swiped his name and held the receiver to his mouth, fumbling the phone in his shaking hands. The phone rang three times, then-

_"Hey, this is Jo..."_

"Joel, I-"

 _"I can't answer my phone right now. Sorry! Leave your name and number, and I'll get ya back. Oh, uh, and if it needs to go, Go West!"_  There was a mutter off the receiver,  _"Was that okay, Ken?"_  and then a beep. Harley tightened his jaw, and his voice quavered when he spoke:

"Joel, please call me back. I... I need to talk to you." He hung up abruptly, shrugged his shoulders in and tight, and carried everything, everything he had, everything he had to, under the stormy sky.

* * *

Steele wasn't sure what to make of Harley showing up in the middle of the day, soaking wet from the rain but for Haku who'd been shielded by the umbrella, wide-eyed, lips pressed into a thin, meaningless smile. He greeted Steele stiffly, set all of his things and Haku down in Steele's office, and busied himself with chores, sweeping and mopping, helping to distribute lunch. He didn't ask, and Harley didn't offer. The only clue Steele got was that, every half hour or so, Harley would stop what he was doing to send a text message, or make a phone call. He would hold the phone to his ear, then hang up without saying anything, or watch the screen after hitting send for a minute or two, then put his phone away. When Gage came home from school, he tried to greet Harley with a hug, which Harley evaded.

"Hey, you okay? You were all down yesterday, too." Gage put his backpack down in the little kitchen and opened his textbook onto the floor. "Tell me what's wrong, woncha?" Harley pressed his lips together, closing them as tight as he could, but Gage persisted. "I tell you everything, y'know?" Steele watched the exchange from the sanctuary, and left them to their devices. With luck, Gage could perk him up.

The next time he went to check on them, it was dinner time and while volunteers were putting out filled plates and the "tenants" were gathering at the benches, Gage was not joining them. Gage missing the dinner bell, or even not being at his usual spot with fork and knife already in hand five minutes early? Unheard of. Steele stormed into the kitchen to find Harley already working at the evening dishes, his shoulders shaking, and Gage sniffling into his hands over his long-ignored homework. Steele ground his teeth together, then yanked Gage up by his collar. "What happened?"

"He..." Gage sniffled, then pointed a shaking finger to Harley's back. "He says, 'I lost my job, and now I won't be able to afford my medicine,' and he needs to talk to Jo, but Jo won't pick up." Gage held up his phone. "I called him too, a buncha times, but he won't pick up! What if Jo's hurt or dead, Dad?" He sniffled hard, then cried the gunk back out onto his face. "Or what if he hates me now?"

Steele whipped around to where Harley still stood, though he'd dropped the plate he was on back into the dishwater. Harley managed a weak laugh, as though he knew Steele was waiting for an explanation. "Not you, Gage, never you. Only me."

Steele snatched the newspaper from his side pocket and whacked Harley across toe head. "Why the fuck are you so broken up about losing your job from that goddamn loser?! You hated it anyway!" He forced Harley to turn around, only a little surprised that though Harley looked despondent, gaze low, his smile shallow and weak, barely pinned in place, he was not crying, and shook him. "I will find help to get you your medicines, idiot, but you have to talk to me!" Harley trembled, and let his face fall as if he could sink any lower.

"He... he won't answer me. I need to talk to him, but..." His gaze brushed over Steele's visage, and his smile broke. "There's... there's so much."

Steele grunted and threw Harley back, and marched out into the sanctuary and through to the phone in his office. Harley and Gage both peered out after him, Gage smearing his face, Harley covering his mouth and trying to collect himself. "Ignore a number you don't know, you son of a bitch," he snarled to himself and dialed Jo's number. He listened to the phone ring, and growled under his breath when he got the answering machine. "Pick up, you stupid bastard! These idiots think you hate them! Get your ass back here, or I swear on the Holy Father, Joel, I will show you his wrath." He slammed the phone down, making sure the noise echoed before the receiver clicked off, and spun back to where Harley and Gage had followed to listen in. He dusted his hands. "And if he doesn't answer that, then I'll make a personal fucking introduction." Harley and Gage traded nervous expressions as Steele marched past them to grab his plate, Gage biting his lip, Harley's brow knit up tight. Gage took Harley's hand.

"Why don't we go eat, and maybe you can relax a little? Dad said it was gonna be okay, so it will, right?" He led Harley towards the tables, patting his hand. Harley let himself be led, still shaking his head.

"What if he's dead, Gage? It could happen in an instant, he'd be gone forever." He heaved a deep, exhausted sigh. "Joel, where are you?"

* * *

Somehow, Jo had walked a circle right back to where he'd fallen for the past two nights. He'd sat uselessly at the edge of the park, watching little children at play, until the storm rolled in. Then, he'd wandered back through the quarter, letting himself be soaked, the rain running through him, until he'd ended up outside of another bar, one he didn't recognize. He went in anyway, ordered a Natty Boh, and let himself fall into a huddle over the bar. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't ask. Other than his order, Jo only asked for one thing:

"Can ya turn the music up, man? I can't hear a damn thing."

"Can't, sorry." The bartender tapped something under the bar. "Seems the storm's knocked the satellite out."

Jo was left in the silence of his thoughts but for the howl of sirens screaming down the road outside, with nothing but everything that was going wrong in his head. He knew there was trouble on the horizon, something big, but he didn't know who he could turn to. Worse, without his job, he'd lose his home if he didn't get hauled in for breaking his parole.

"It was an accident," he mumbled into the hole in the can. "It was one tiny accident. I know she's evil, but I was tryin' to make right. Don't a guy get a second chance?"

Not for an ex-con in Chance Harbor, fuck no. One strike and he'd probably be chucked back in the clink until he was old and gray and there were no more rainy days to count.

By the time the storm faded and died, there were a few other patrons drowning their Monday night sorrows, and Jo's wallet was empty. He went to check the time on his phone, and realized he'd left the player program up and the light on his phone was flashing. He closed the player and found nine missed calls, three voicemail messages, and thirty text messages. Six messages and three of the calls were from Gage, and all but one of the missed calls of what remained were from Harley.

Jo's mouth and throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. He skipped Harley's messages, barely able to listen to the sound of his voice. Gage's message sounded so cheerful: _"Hey, man, where are ya? Harl's real worried, and I'm kinda worried too, so hit me back and tell me what's goin' on, okay?"_  Then, Steele's message made him cringe.

"Hate 'em?" He sounded slurred to his own ears, and when he shook his head, his brain bobbed and sloshed. "No..." He went back and listened to Harley's messages.

_"... I need to talk to you."_

The next five messages were all the same, static and a click, but the most recent one, timestamped just a few minutes before Gage's call, hurt.  _"Joel, I'm certain you must hate me for... for what I've done, and I'm so sorry. Please, call me. We... we have to talk."_

Jo cringed, and glanced over the text messages. They were all asking where he was, asking him to text back or call. He ran his eyes over Harley's messages, a tear ripping through his chest with each one. He got that strange mixed, sick feeling thinking about Harley, but the ache at knowing Harley wanted him, wanted him around, overrode that, and he tapped out a response:

 _"I don't hate you."_  With that, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, shoved a tip over the bar, and hopped off the stool and walked out. Father Steele would be in danger if Jo couldn't get the cops to do anything about Genie and Jenning's plot, and if nothing else, he was going to do something about that. Even if the last thing he wanted to do was get him involved, it might have been too late for that anyway.

* * *

It was late, night long since fallen but no stars visible in the thick black veil of night, and Steele was putting the trash out when he saw a long shadow approaching from down the street. He nipped out to the edge of the road, and snatched Jo by the collar as he came close. "You stupid fuck, where have you-" He took a breath, then hissed and pushed Jo into the wall. "Drinking again? Haven't you learned your lesson?"

"Never was a good student." Jo dodged Steele's gaze. "Can ya get Harl? I gotta tell you something. We all need to talk."

"What, need to bitch about your failing love life again? Christ, Jo, we have bigger problems!"

"Jo?" Harley was at the back door, and Gage right behind him. Steele dropped Jo, and Harley rushed to join them in the puddle of lamplight from the street. "Jo, thank goodness, I was so-"

"I told Ken, and I lost my job." Jo scowled at himself, and Harley gasped. "The bitch on the recording- Genie Maoh- was one of his DNDs, and I fucking missed it, so I got shitcanned. He ain't gonna help me, either, so we're back at square fucking one." He shook his head helplessly. "I'm gonna break my parole. I dunno if I can get another job fast enough."

Harley's mouth fell open, then slowly shut as he gathered his thoughts. "I've lost my job too. The woman on the recording was my employer, and she knew my face and my deeds. If I can't afford my medicines, I'll be sent to prison as well."

Jo cringed and took a step towards Harley, holding a hand out. "Harl, I had no clue-"

"Both of you!" Steele pushed his way between them. "Why the fuck are we talking about Genie Maoh and some fucking recording? What the fuck have neither of you told me?"

Harley's expression and body language shuttered all at once. "Father, it doesn't concern you."

"If it involves Genie Maoh and it's gotten that loser fired, then it sure as fuck concerns me!" Steele seized both of their collars, but Harley, to Jo's surprise, deflected his wrist and caught it back behind him.

"It's complicated."

"Then enlighten me!" Steele stumbled when Harley released him, then whirled on him and pointed a finger right at his nose. "You're so fucking smart, spell it out!" Harley remained po-faced and still, but Jo crumbled and slouched as he dug out his phone.

"I made a delivery on Saturday. For Genie Maoh to... to some guy. She's the psycho who's been getting lots of gang members off, and she's planning a jailbreak on G Maoh."

"Who's G Maoh?" Gage ventured, hand raised.

"The biggest, worst gangster this city's ever seen," Steele answered over his shoulder, and whipped back around to Jo. "Is this a joke?"

"Serious as a fucking Kubrick flick, old man. I recorded their conversation." Jo shook his phone. "But I can't go to the cops, I'm an ex-con. The first they're gonna do is figure I'm involved and shut me in the SHU 'til my eyes rot out!" He sighed. "But they were talking about more than that. They're talking about getting priests out of the way, because priests cause trouble."

"Joel-" Harley stepped in, hands out, but Steele shoved him back and faced Jo.

"You're shitting me."

"They said your name, you in particular."

Silence fell heavy through the dark. Gage clapped his hand over his mouth, Harley winced, and Steele's entire form tensed like wound by a spring. Jo's shoulders sagged, and he gestured weakly. "I dunno what else to tell ya."

Steele sucked in air, then spun on Harley. "You weren't going to tell me?"

"I knew you would only overreact. You panic so easily-"

"I do not panic!" Steele lunged for Harley, putting his face far too close to Harley's. "You give me shit for being paranoid, but when something actually comes up, you avoid telling me?!"

Harley cringed, trying to put space between the two of them, but the sanctuary wall was too close, he had nowhere to go. "I'd hoped we could resolve this without worrying you or Gage."

"I don't deal with liars!"

Jo had to step in, because Harley was smearing spittle from his face now. "Padre, listen, yelling ain't gonna get anything done!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Steele whipped back for a second with a snarl twisting all his features, then turned back around to encroached on Harley deeper, and Jo's insides twisted.

"Leave off of him, he just wanted to protect you and the kid!"

"And what the fuck would you know about that?" Steele turned from Harley again and clenched a fist towards Jo. He advanced, and Jo backstepped to the other wall, hands out in front of him. "You don't get it. You don't know me! You don't know anything! Who the fuck do you think is more qualified to run my life than me?! Loser-ass failure like you?"

"Hey!" Jo's temper flared, and his fists clenched. "I might'a fucked up, but I'm fucking trying, okay?! Will you just focus, and-"

"Who are you to talk about focus?! Getting all wrapped up in your stupid gay panic-"

Harley spoke up, his fists closing. "He's trying to help, don't abuse him."

"- while we're all fucking twisting in the wind, your head's up your goddamned ass!" Steele swiped at Jo again, and Jo growled under his breath and caught his hand. His elbow came back, his fist clenched, and--

"HEY!" Gage rushed in, standing in front of Steele with his arms out, and Jo caught himself before he could throw the punch. He scowled around at all three adults. "I thought you guys needed to talk, not yell!" He turned his back to the street, his small body closing them in, and he set his hands on his hips. "Just be quiet! God! Listen to each other, damn it, you're supposed to be grown-ups!"

"Gage," Steele started, but Gage stomped his foot.

"No! It's my turn to talk now!" He looked at each of them, eye to eye to eye. "You are the three smartest and strongest people I know. We can handle this! We just have to calm down and talk about this, and sort it out! For God's sakes!" He threw his hands out. "It's not like anybody's dead!"

Just as those words escaped him, there were three reports from behind them, small explosions, then three impacts on the concrete in front of them. Gage's eyes went wide, terrifyingly wide. Gage took one deep breath out of shock then, unblinking, collapsed on his knees, then slumped onto his front. Steele sucked in air, then hurtled forward to turn Gage over.

Jo and Harley both saw what had made the impact: three bullets, spinning in their craters like crimson beads in the wan lamplight. They both hurried to Gage's side. Blood was spreading on his shirt and starting to pool under him. Harley snapped into emergency mode, and yanked Gage's shirt off. Jo snapped his phone out and dialed 911, but Steele was staring, wide-eyed, across the street.

Someone shrouded in blackness waved, then sank into the shadows. Steele rose to a stand, legs trembling, as Gage wheezed and convulsed at his feet.

"We need an ambulance." Jo glanced up from his phone. "Steele, what's the address?!"

"There was someone there. This wasn't an accident." Steele clenched his fists. "This... this...!" He roared, and tore across the street without a second thought.

"Hey, don't leave!" But Steele had vanished into the darkness, with Jo still grasping after him. Harley, meanwhile, was plugging the holes in Gage's chest with Gage's shirt wrapped around his hands.

"Joel, the operator. Corner of First and Kennedy."

Jo cringed, and repeated it. "Corner of First and Kennedy, K-One River Mission, he's twelve, he's small, he's bleeding a lot!" The operator confirmed and told him to stay on the line, but Jo rose up to his feet and screamed after Steele. "You stupid bastard, come back! We need you! He needs you!"

It was no use. Their worlds had been inverted, Gage was shivering in shock on the ground with his lifeblood staining the concrete, and Steele was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have a tumblr, ezra-blue. I've started posting when I update there with the hashtag [#staying straight], and I'll also post extended liner notes, usually the evening after I put up a chapter and with the same hashtag. Also, if you have any questions, I have an ask box!


	18. God Taketh Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Gage is hurried into critical care, Steele hurries off to find the assailant and takes a journey through his own horrible memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS REFERENCE TO ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ABUSE OF A CHILD.

**18: God Taketh Away**

Four EMTs surrounded Gage's gurney as they hurtled him out of the ambulance and into the emergency room, tubes and wires and hands all over his small body, the chaos of the wheels and the men and women in scrubs and masks loud and chaotic in the pure white of Mercy Square Hospital's lobby. Harley and Jo, with blood on their hands and pant legs, followed along after, a step behind, as all of the techs kept talking over their heads to nurses and into cellphones.

"Three gunshots to the chest. He's lost a lot of blood. We need an OR. What's his blood type?"

"O positive," Harley volunteered, realizing that some of the chatter was at them, and a nurse immediately went to his side.

"Do you know this young man well?"

"I'm friends with his guardian." With that, she thrust a clipboard into his hand. Jo was trying to talk to them too, trying to talk to anyone who might have been listening to him.

"What can I do? He can have my blood, just take it, how do we help him?!"

One of the techs halted Harley and Jo as they got to a set of double doors. "You two stay here. We're getting him into surgery right now." He spun around again and vanished after Gage into the belly of the hospital, and the nurse stood with Harley as he finished filling out the paperwork. She frowned as she took the clipboard from him.

"You don't have any more history on him?"

"I know where all of his paperwork is." Harley cringed, wringing his hands. The nurse frowned.

"Where are his parents?"

Harley's hands clasped tight. "He doesn't have parents. His guardian is... he's not here." He glanced to Jo, then back to the nurse. "I can get his paperwork. If they have any questions, I put my phone number down. I shouldn't be long." He half-turned as the nurse departed and patted Jo's shoulder. "Jo, if you hear anything."

"You got it." Jo nodded, and Harley rushed back out the way they'd come. Jo caught his hands and shoulders shaking as he hurried out, hailing a taxicab, and turned back around to look at the illuminated red "Restricted Area" sign above the door.

He took his phone out and dialed Steele's cellphone. It rang, then went to an answering machine. Jo cringed and hung up, then sent a text message:  _"Where r u?"_

He couldn't stand in front of the sealed doors forever, so he dragged himself to one of the chairs and slumped into it. A nearby woman with a squalling infant in her arms took one look at the blood on him and moved to another row, but Jo couldn't be bothered to care. All that was in his head was that those bullets were aimed at all of them, could have been aimed at any of them, but they'd only struck Gage. If Jo hadn't gone back, if he had just called the cops himself, if he'd done anything to keep them from being there at that moment, then he wouldn't be here and Gage wouldn't be one step from death's door. He felt sick, his head and eyes ached, and all he had was to try and push it back down with force.

He sat there rubbing his head and wallowing in his sorrow for what seemed like a long time, until he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "I've given the nurse Gage's papers," Harley said from above him, and Jo turned his head up. Harley was indeed there, clothes changed but face still dirty. He smiled at him, just the same as always, but it felt shallow and distant, and like a single touch would make it dissipate into smoke. "I still have to find Father Steele. He may know things we don't, and if they need something signed, he's the only one who can." He gave Jo's shoulder another pat. "Stay here. I'll be back." He turned and left again, leaving Jo alone as before.

His insides all coiled, tight and twisted and angry, and he doubled over, wracked with pain from the inside out. This was all his fault, and he was useless to do anything about it.

* * *

_"C-"_

Shut up. Keep running, he told himself. I won't stand by this time.

_"C-"_

He'd looked so flat laid out on the floor of the sanctuary, blood as dark as the center of the ocean flooding the floor around him, but he'd smiled and extended a hand.

_"Do you know why I gave you that name?"_

He'd looked so small, his tiny body shaking near to seizures as those two idiots who'd wormed their way into his chest like tumors flailed and squalled and cried for help that wouldn't help. No. This isn't like that. This isn't like that!

Father Steele knew he'd caught up, at least a little, deaf to the horns that blared when he darted across one-way streets, blind to headlights and the pedestrians he pushed past. He couldn't feel the puddles soaking his pant legs. He felt nothing but rage. He'd caught sight of him a few times, waving from around corners, laughing in alleyways. Last time-

But this isn't like last time, this is nothing like that, you told yourself it would never happen again, nobody is worth that kind of pain!-

Last time, he'd stood useless at his side as he bled out and crumpled into nothing, holding his hand as blood wicked onto his pants and stained his knees.

_"Names have power. Do you know why I gave you your name?"_

He was hearing his father call his name in his head, watching him bleed out, and snarled at his own memory. He ducked against a dumpster to try to get his bearings. Footsteps still echoed close, and a reedy, mocking voice echoed in his ears.

"I had no idea the little bird was a Daddy."

Steele whipped his gun out and fired in the direction it had come from, but his tormentor laughed like a little child might at a puppet show, and then Steele only heard footsteps. He chased them, an ocean of rage roiling at his throat. "Little bird, my ass," he snarled under his breath, and tore his top few buttons loose.

Feeling his collar pop only made his soul squirm and delve into its darkest hours.

_Imprisoned in the principal's office, red clay ground into the navy slacks of his school uniform, buttons on his shirt torn away, a compress over a blackened eye. Connor knelt in front of him, kind eyes, kinder smile, and rubbed his cheek. "Were they mocking you again?"_

_He thought of biting his tongue. Better bite it off than tell Connor the other kids called him a Daddy's boy and teacher's pet because his Dad was a priest and his mother was- he didn't even know what his mother was, and nor did they, and that was enough to needle at him. No. Connor didn't deserve that. "It's my stupid name," he spat back. "Why did you give me such a stupid name?!"_

_Connor looked dismayed, brow wrought up, but his lips still faintly smiling. "I happen to like it. You know why I gave you that name. Does it hurt you that much?" He didn't answer Connor, not wanting to tilt his smile any further, to work any more sadness into those always-kind eyes. He'd never felt he'd deserved his Father's heart, but here he was, one wrong word from expulsion at age six and his Father was still trying to smile. He lived for that smile, it was the only thing in the world that made him really happy. If Connor ever stopped smiling, then he'd surely be lost. Connor waited, until he finally shook his head. Connor kissed him, a gentle brush of dry lips across his hot, dirt-streaked forehead. "Your first name is unique, but it's you. If it helps, why not tell them to call you by your middle name? Gabriel's a good name, too."_

_He'd nodded at the time, and would only ever mutter in correction, "It's Gabe," whenever introduced to someone new, or when someone started to taunt and tease..._

"You won't catch me, little bird!" That disembodied voice laughed from around all the corners, as Steele twisted his way through a maze of close streets and into an industrial park. He finally got a good look at his quarry in a splash of emergency light, his arms spread like an angel in a Michelangelo painting in silhouette, with two large caliber rifles strapped to his back. Steele only saw a meaningless smile "Even a good Father like you is nothing against a Holy Man." He cackled again, and when the light next blinked off, then on again, he was gone. Steele snarled and ran to the spot where he'd been, then noticed a crate askew and vaulted it to give chase. He could faintly see wet footprints on the concrete, and followed them, even to the tune of more cold, mocking laughter. "Oh, but this is fun, isn't it? A little bird told me you've never been fun, never, never! Especially since your own Daddy..."

Steele saw it again, white hot on his eyelids, and he couldn't turn away, couldn't turn away...

_He couldn't turn away, couldn't make himself move, not even when the police covered his still corpse with a white sheet and spread around to assess the crime scene. A lady cop, or maybe someone from Child Services, was at his side, holding his shoulder. "Come on, sweetie, you shouldn't be here."_

_"Gabe," he muttered, and closed his fist around the bloody vestment that he'd refused to hand over. "My name is Gabe."_

_He hadn't been able to talk, to say any more than that, only correcting whenever someone said his name or didn't say his name._

_"Gabe. Call me Gabe."_

This won't be like that. You won't stand by, useless and worthless and mute and stupid, as it all goes away, because this isn't like that. Steele kept it in his head, over and over: kill the laughing bastard. You won't let it happen again. This is nothing like that, you won't let him tear you apart like this!

_He had drifted, unbound, through the days after Connor's death, with no surface below and no sky above, led around like a golem or a puppet on strings, as his world twirled over his head._

_He tried to remember the good times. He recalled days when he was small, and Connor would walk him to the playground and push him on the swings until both of their lungs were tired from talking and shouting and laughing. He enjoyed long afternoons spent in a storage unit being used as a garage, as Connor and his friend Tom repaired classic cars together and told him stories about some of the places they'd been together or other cars they'd put together. He remembered Connor tending to him when he was sick, never leaving his side, stroking his hair and back as he suffered in delirium, aware of nothing but his kindness. Connor always had a warm smile and gentle answer to all of his questions._

_"Why are we taking care of all these drifters?" The thought had come to him sometime around his seventh winter, and he'd trotted right up to Connor to explore it. "I mean, don't they have family or something? Or, they're using drugs, shouldn't they be in jail?"_

_Connor had quickly turned from the paperwork in his hands to face Gabe with a soft frown. "Goodness, I hadn't realized you objected." Gabe flushed, ready to say that wasn't what he meant, but Connor didn't give him the chance. "After all, Christ and his apostles were drifters, just the same." He settled in his office chair and folded his paperwork over, clearing any barriers between them, then set his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "But they may have had families, families who gave up on them, and even if they should be imprisoned for using illicit substances, or locked up for not using the substances they need to maintain their minds, imprisonment will not help them. Jailors will only put them away, not offer real assistance. In this place, I have a chance to give them the help that no others are willing to give." He then put on that significant smile, driving the point home: "There's no such thing as complete independence, we are all connected somehow." Connor interlaced his fingers. "Parent and child, siblings, friendship, love, these connections keep us all in place, but when those connections are broken or ruined, humans tend to drift. I am content in my place to help keep these people from drifting further. We, as people, all must take care of each other. As I care for you, I care for all those who have none others."_

_Gabe understood that, and even admired it._

_He admired everything about Connor. Connor was perfect, to him. Even if he seemed to be off in his own world sometimes, that world was Heaven. Connor walked on air, even when weighted down by Earth, Sun, Moon, and God alike._

_"Gracious," he heard Connor sigh, because that was as close as his breathy voice could come to swearing. Gabe had paused in sweeping the sanctuary to look to him and see what had irked him. Connor noticed, and turned up from the table with a smile on his face. "Just a letter from the Archdiocese. They've trimmed our budget a bit, but I'm afraid we can't cut very much more from our numbers. I'll just have to pick up the slack. I think that Mercedes will be ready to sell if I can get my hands on a new muffler and make the time to install it."_

_"But you and Father Tom were having fun with it. I thought you were going to show it before you sold it." Gabe frowned and took a seat next to Connor to try to read the letter, but Connor quickly tucked it away. "Father Connor, why are they giving us less money? That's all they're good for, anyway."_

_"C-, now." Connor tsked, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "They give us all they can spare. I'm certain the money they're not giving us is being used for other, more worthwhile things. Besides, it's as they say. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away." Connor giggled into the back of his hand. "Sometimes, he just taketh a lot more than he giveth."_

_The Lord taketh, alright. The Lord taketh and taketh and taketh and now, Gabe was reaping the reward of living under that law._

_Half-catatonic, stuck in what few memories of the happy times he could still grasp, Gabe was hardly even aware of the funeral, only of sitting in the front row of an unfamiliar cathedral, dressed in a too-tight, restrictive black suit and watching and hearing the deacons argue under their breath._

_"Father O'Day's sick, and they can't find anyone else who can do it."_

_"Why does it have to be-"_

_"His congregation is here, they're expecting the service in Latin. They've called for Father Jenning, but he said he wasn't sure when he could get here."_

_Gabe closed his eyes tight, squeezing his hands together, and staring at the coffin. Closed. Thankfully. Seeing his face, those eyes, ever warm and kind, now gray and blank, had sucked out some of his soul. He'd knelt in front of it in vigil for longer than he could remember, thinking nothing, feeling nothing. He wondered if someone had remembered to give him a rosary to hold. He wondered if, when they cremated him, his beads would burn with him. He wondered when something would happen, or if he would just twist here, directionless, lifeless, reduced to nothing without a kind smile and wise stories to give him worth and direction._

_There were others missing him too, growling impatience and disgust in myriad languages that he only understood in snippets of pidgin, complaining, confusion, dismay, what fucking right did any of them have to be upset? Selfish bastards, only thinking of their own goddamned souls..._

_Gabe rose to a stand and marched to the podium, and the room fell silent._

_Someone had to do something for Connor. Maybe what Connor had always done for him. Gabe had heard the mass given a million times, even as lullabies, and while Connor didn't understand a word, he knew every single line. He opened his mouth, and for the first time in days, something other than his own name emerged._

_"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." He crossed himself as the notes of song echoed around the room, as every head turned towards him. It took a solid few seconds before the response came, hesitantly, gradually, in pieces:_

_"Amen."_

_He sank into the melody and harmonies, lost himself in words that meant nothing to him, only that Connor had said them and he knew them best. He let himself stay in that space long enough to recite a shortened version of the funeral mass and sprinkle holy water on Connor's coffin, held himself firm until the last Amen, stood and faced the crowd, and, just like Connor always had, repeated "Peace be unto you" in every language he knew, and quivered at every "And also with you" that came back._

_It wasn't until there was an exhausted laugh from the door that Gabe snapped from his reverie, and lifted his face to see a dark-haired man clapping slowly from back of the sanctuary, a bottle of something honey-colored under one arm and joyless mirth in his smile. "They told me Father Steele was dead." He was loud, so loud in the silent room. "Stupid, idiots. He's right there."_

"I'm right here." Steele jumped at the interloper's taunt in his ear, and jumped around, drew, and fired in a snap. The tiny flash off of the barrel illuminated nothing but empty space and graffiti-colored concrete, and Steele roared like an animal.

"Come back here!" He tore off down the narrow passage between the buildings, the gunman's laughter echoing and bouncing from spot to spot.

"Are you coming to thank me? Girls don't like guys with kids." He cackled, and Steele stumbled on his cassock and tripped into a wall. He stayed on his knees, panting for breath, as he tore the rest of the buttons loose. His undershirt was already soaked with sweat, his chest was burning, aching, not pain,  _not pain not pain not pain_  but from air and effort and strain.

"Who the fuck even are you?!" He snapped up to his feet, pistol still grasped in a shaking, sweating hand, and the voice laughed back again because the sonofabitch was  _waiting for him_.

"I told you. I'm the Holy Man."

"There's nothing Holy about you!" Steele halted in place and fired a shot into the air. "Face me like a fucking man!"

"I am no man." Steele whipped around to see the gunman standing on a rooftop, against the moon this time, arms out, and he got his first good look. Golden-yellow hair in a short tail, skinny arms and legs contoured in ragged clothes, a smile like a child, and guns and knives strapped at his hips, back, and shoulders. He grinned down at Steele. "You can't fight the will of God. Don't you know that?"

Steele lined up and fired, but the man was moving again before he could get his aim steady. Fuck God's will. He'd had enough of that shit in his life...

_"It is surely God's will," the bishop had whispered in his ear as the car stopped. Gabe squinted out at the low brownstone building of the Gramercy Seminary, all bedecked with ivy, the yard littered with young men in collars and cassocks. Gabe didn't answer him. "The loss of your guardian is a tragedy, but it was God's will that you come to us. You will make a fine priest when you are a man."_

_Gabe still didn't answer him. It seemed a bad idea to tell this man just how few fucks he gave._

_The Seminary, a private secondary school combined with a theological college, was planted in the heart of farmland up in the county, but not quite far enough from the city to escape Chance Harbor completely. It was a quieter place, he'd been told, and after his impromptu 'performance,' the bishop had recommended he board here. With no better ideas in mind, Gabe had agreed. Now, he carried his suitcase to the front door with the bishop at his back, where two adults and a dark-skinned teenager were waiting for him on the step, all dressed in the same black overshirts and white collars. One of the adults, a handsome man with a sharp jaw and a dent in the bridge of his nose, dark hair and eyes, and a warm smile, stepped forward, arms out, as Gabe got close enough. "The famous Gabriel Steele. Is Gabe okay?" Gabe nodded, and the priest smiled and let his arms fall to his side. "I'm Father Ricardo. Would you believe I was an old friend of your Father Steele's?"_

_"Father Ricardo, our Latin instructor, insisted on meeting you." The other priest studied Gabe, eyes narrow. "He was Steele's underclassman when he studied here. I recall the man myself, though considerably less fondly. I will warn you, to walk with the Holy Spirit is a difficult path, and we impress that upon our pupils. Quiet asceticism and simple contentment are the best you can expect. If you wish to walk away, you need only say so."_

_"I want to be here." Gabe surprised even himself, but quickly rationalized: someone had to do what Father Steele had done, and Father Steele was gone now. Besides, he wanted at least to survive, and he could think of no other way to move forward._

_"Good." The headmaster gestured to the teenager. "This is Rakesh Shalimar." The teenager, with long hair tied in an odd bun, bowed his head to Gabe. "He will be your roommate, and supervise you to ensure you follow school policies while you adjust. Mister Shalimar, if you would." The headmaster gestured, and Shalimar, without a word, turned on his heel and motioned for Gabe to follow._

_Gabe heard the headmaster talk to the bishop in the edges of his hearing: "If he's anything like his former guardian, you'll have to rehome him soon. Connor's work ethic and dedication were the only things that kept him here."_

_"The boy has nowhere else to go, and besides, it's something of a prize, to pick up a boy who can already perform mass in Latin. He's a prodigy. It'll be a wonderful story for investors, if nothing else..."_

_"Pigs," Gabe heard Rakesh whisper. He lowered his head as they entered the building, but the moment they got into the shade, he felt Rakesh's skinny, dry fingers on the back of his hand. "Give me that." He worked the suitcase handle from Gabe's hand and into his own, scoffing all the while, "They couldn't help you at all? You'd think priests would know a thing or two about sympathy." The more Rakesh spoke, the more Gabe registered a slight accent. Rakesh scrunched his nose as he rose again, staring down into Gabe's face as Gabe scrutinized him. "If you must know, Nepal." Gabe raised an eyebrow. "I came from Nepal. A missionary, Oskar Jakobi, took much of my village to Chance Harbor to escape the Empire's encroachment. I joined the seminary at his recommendation. And no, I will not cut my hair. I prefer it this way."_

_"It's fine by me."_

_What he didn't say was that he didn't care._

_He didn't care that Rakesh was less than talkative most of the time, that he listened to music on a battered old Walkman while doing his homework, that he came in after Gabe fell asleep and woke and showered before anyone else. None of his business._

_He didn't care about Father Ricardo's enthusiastic lessons, or just how lovely Ricardo thought his singing voice was. He didn't care what any of his teachers had to say. He just did what he was told._

_He didn't care about homework, or his high school equivalency. It was all so hollow and pointless. Connor used to praise him, to encourage him, he would tell him to find something he enjoyed in the work. That was why he had come to love history classes and anthropology, because it had been interesting and Connor had told him to enjoy it. Now, history books were just sequences of words that filtered through his mind like dry leaves sailing air currents between hollowed stumps in a razed forest._

_Weeks fled him, torn from him just the same as so many pages on the calendar, and Gabe began to realize that his life was more than just empty and pointless. It was wrong._

_Ricardo's hand on his back, his warm praise. The admiration his grades won from teachers, the jealousy of the other students. It was all wrong. It was just form without substance, paint off a master's brush against only air._

_The only things that still had ground at all were his imitation of Connor's mass and, occasionally, Rakesh._

_Rakesh was nice, when he wasn't being standoffish. He watched Gabe do his homework from his desk, and he Gabe had made a mistake somewhere, he would tap the page next to it. He sat next to Gabe at meals, though another older boy would join them most days. "My cousin, Hassan," Rakesh had explained. Hassan had waved and smiled. They included him in their conversations, when they felt like it, or just chattered in quiet Nepali when they didn't want to talk to him or when he didn't want to talk to them. Rakesh would sniff and sneer at anyone who looked at Gabe funny._

_"What pigs these smug children are. You're fine. Ignore them." Rakesh spoke like a prince, head held high, and Hassan always grinned and agreed with him, in his stilted tongue._

_"We can make them into stew, but I imagine they'd taste terrible."_

_Rakesh and Hassan were good. Rakesh's straightforward attitude reminded him, if distantly, of Connor._

_Singing mass was good. Maybe that was why he tried to let himself like Father Ricardo._

_"Thank you for today's lesson," he whispered on his way out the classroom door a few months into the first semester. It was the first conversation he'd started with a teacher that was not out of necessity, and he managed to weakly follow up with, "I learned a lot." Ricardo first looked surprised, then warmly amused._

_"Why, Gabe, that's kind of you." Ricardo patted his shoulder, and spoke half-laughing, all smiling. "Truth be told, it's nice to hear my students like my lessons- especially one of the younger set. I admit, I miss teaching your age group! You're our youngest student by far, and we very rarely have boys your age enrolling anymore. Knowing I can still interest your age set just sets my heart aglow." He grinned, as if to show off that shining feeling. Gabe didn't feel anything. He hadn't said any of that, but Ricardo was looking at him as if he were a prize, his expression full of praise and joy. "You know, I'd be happy to give you extra lessons. Dig in a little, you know? I teach conversational Latin, too."_

_Conversation. Gabe shuddered. "Thank you. I'd rather not." He left quickly, ignoring Ricardo's questioning gaze at his back._

_This was a mistake._

This was a mistake. He knew he wouldn't, couldn't catch the gunman, but damn if he wasn't going to try. The stupid bastard was still stringing him on, leading him deeper and further away. The city was darker by the second, and he didn't know how long he'd been running anymore. The gunman was still beckoning under red emergency lights and from the shadows of decrepit storefronts and neglected concrete buildings, swinging from balconies like a monkey through a tree. "Hold still," he growled, though only he could hear himself anymore. "I'm going to kill you." Hurt back when you've been hurt, that's the only way. God taketh and taketh and taketh, but He wouldn't take what revenge he could still have.

Too much had been taken already.

_"I'm failing." Gabe stared at the progress report with what surprise he could muster. Rakesh looked over his shoulder at the letter, frowning._

_"Impossible. Your Latin is perfect. I have heard you."_

_Gabe shook his head. "Spoken, I'm okay. Written is harder. But... the subjective grades are..." Gabe trailed off, feeling his stomach sink. "If I fail, then... I can't come here anymore. I don't know where I'll go." Even if he didn't care about school, or care for this school, he didn't like the thought of not knowing where he would next sleep, wake, or how he would survive. He pressed his lips together. "Father Ricardo says he'd be willing to give me extracurricular lessons to catch me up." Rakesh's brow furrowed with suspicion._

_"And you'll take them?"_

_"I don't know if I have a choice."_

_Rakesh had sneered with disgust, and the next day, Gabe spoke again to Ricardo to let him know he'd accept the lessons. Ricardo's features had brightened._

_"Good, good! Meet me at my cell this evening after the dinner hour."_

_He did. Ricardo's cell was like that of any of the other priests: simply equipped, a desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, Bibles and Latin texts, a nightstand, a bed. Ricardo poured two cups of tea from his hot plate, and he happily opened up one of his books. He coached Gabe for about forty-five minutes, teaching material Gabe was certain he'd seen Rakesh practicing. Gabe matched him, each repetition, without even a moment's struggle. Finally, Ricardo chuckled and closed the text. "Talented lad. I may have to reconsider the subjective portion of your grade, if you keep the hard work up." He then turned to refill his teacup. "How are your other classes going?"_

_"Fine." Gabe kept his hands folded on his lap. He watched Ricardo's back as he went through the motions of pouring and adding sugar to his tea, waiting to be dismissed. Ricardo, instead, chuckled and returned to his seat._

_"You're not very talkative, are you?" He set his chin in his hand and admired Gabe from across the table. "Your voice is nice, though. I wish I heard more of it. I was at Connor's funeral, you know. Your mass was truly impressive. He would have been so proud." Gabe fidgeted, embarrassed. Ricardo only chuckled and touched his cheek. "He spoke of you, when we spoke. He adored you." Ricardo reached across the table and rubbed Gabe's cheek. His thumb caressed the hollow under his eye. "Did he ever show you just how much he and God loved you?"_

_Gabe's very skin screamed, his back, neck, and arms all erupting in an earthquake of needles, pebbling and pocking and shuddering all in a desperate attempt to not be touched any further. He quickly mumbled something about curfew and having homework due the next day, and excused himself. He wanted to run for the hills and never turn back, but when Ricardo saw him off, it was with a "See you tomorrow, and tomorrow evening," and a kind smile that masked fester and corruption and the horrifying reminder that he was trapped here. He had nowhere he could run, nobody to run to. He was trapped here and it was all his own fault..._

A hand tapped Steele's shoulder, and Steele shouted and whipped back, firing off another round without thinking about it, but the shadow of the gunman was already swallowed by the shadows of the shipping containers and barges littering the docks. He was shaking all over again, the unexpected touch sending warning signs and panic signals up in every nerve. The urge to make it stop, to do anything to defend himself, welled up through him to bursting, but with nothing to grab, to tear, to rend, to throw aside. Instead, he was wracked by another delighted peal of laughter.

"Oh, this is fun! It's like tag, but you're always it!" Steele tracked the gunman by the echoes, as he seemed to move down the docks, winding through the maze of iron and wood. "But you weren't a playful child, were you? Never played nice with other children, no matter how they tried. God told me. He knows."

Steele shuddered...

_... He'd never thought about it. He'd tried not to, anyway._

_Once, before Connor had died, when he was still at school in the city, a girl tried to kiss him on the cheek. He'd pushed her off and complained, and this set off a whole new round of teasing. "They called me a fag," he mumbled to Connor as he explained why he was in the principal's office this time. Just shy of thirteen and small in stature, he felt like a three-year-old when crumpled in a hard chair even with Connor kneeling in front of him, his palms on the arms of the chair and his gaze searching for Gabe's eyes under his bowed head. "A girl kissed me, and I didn't want it, but everyone said I was a fag."_

_Connor, even and pleasant as always, answered, "It's alright to not want girls to kiss you. It doesn't mean you would prefer boys to kiss you. And even if you do, there's nothing wrong with that. You still can't hit them."_

_Gabe flushed furiously, and wrung his hands in his lap. The thought had always made him feel as if he were broken, or built wrong, but it had haunted him since girls and boys started to kiss where he could see it, and he couldn't keep it in any longer: "What if I don't want anyone to kiss me?"_

_Connor, perfect, wonderful, understanding Connor, giggled under his breath and patted his head. His palm was thin, his fingers were etched with parallel wrinkles, both cool and dry against Gabe's skin. "That's alright, too. You can kiss or not kiss anybody you like. That's entirely your decision. All you have to do when someone you don't like tries to do it is tell them no, and if they don't listen, tell a grown-up you trust." He held both of Gabe's shoulders. "You said anyone. Does that include me?"_

_Gabe considered it and shook his head, and Connor leaned in and kissed his cheek. Connor was special. Connor was the only grown-up he trusted. His kiss was warm, dry, chaste, and full of fatherly love, the only love Gabe had ever cared about._

_Father Ricardo's kiss was chilling, slimy, repulsive. Father Ricardo's hands were twitchy as he fiddled with the bottom of Gabe's shirt. Gabe did not want that. He didn't want anything, any of God's love that Ricardo might have wanted to show him._

_He didn't remember that night very much, or very well. He remembered going into the cell. He remembered that there was a Latin lesson. It was a short lesson. Gabe couldn't remember much of what was said between the end of the lesson and Ricardo forcing a kiss onto his neck and trying to take his shirt off, except:_

_"I'll take you to the Gates of Heaven myself."_

_He remembered screaming. He had screamed and upended the table, he'd thrown Ricardo back with all of the force in his little body, and he'd knocked him flat. Then, he'd stomped down on his chest as hard as he fucking could, fit to shove his foot clean through his ribcage, still screaming, screaming, screaming. He wanted to run and tell an adult, but there was no adult he trusted, not anymore, and whose stupid fault was that? He didn't stop, because he wouldn't be taken, no, God taketh and taketh enough already. He didn't stop when the horrible crunching started. He didn't stop until the door burst open, and someone restrained him by his arms and pulled him back._

_"That's enough, boy," an older man had muttered into his ear, and then there were more people, noises, voices, but all Gabe wanted to do was to scream..._

Steele screamed and hurtled forward into the corridor of rusty storage containers. "Where are you?!" He spun around, but the footsteps and giddy, gleeful laughter echoed from all around, from inside the empty lockers, from the water, from the boats on the distant horizon.

"God is everywhere. God knows all."

"I don't care who you are! Holy man or gutter trash, face me!" Steele stomped down in place and dug in his side pocket for more bullets, reloading even as the gunman giggled again.

"But you already know me, little bird." He sighed contently, like a little girl admiring her dollhouse. "The Holy Man taketh..."

He taketh and taketh and taketh...

_"Little bird, little bird, your nest is all burnt." Gabe sat, shuddering, outside of the council room. The old man who'd carried him out had vanished with Rakesh at his side, more old men in vestry had filed past him. Ricardo had already been sped away in an ambulance, and Gabe was all alone but for another boy sitting outside of the office. Gabe couldn't make himself look at anything but his own hands as he trembled in place, his stomach still hurting. There was an ugly red mark on his neck, and his body ached from effort. He just wanted to be left alone, somewhere dark and secluded, to never see or talk to anyone ever again. And yet, there, a few seats away, was another boy. He held a doll in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other, and either an ugly aubergine bruise or burn scar across his right eye. And he was singing to himself, tunelessly, as he snipped chunks of his doll's hair off. "Little bird, little bird, nowhere to go..."_

_Connor had once told him that a bird was not free because it had wings. A bird was free because it had wings and a place to land. Gabe didn't have either anymore, weighted by Earth, Moon, Sun, and God. He wanted nothing but nothingness._

_"Hey." The boy was speaking to him, but Gabe didn't want to answer. "Little birdie, don't you want to play?" He held the doll out with a smile. "I'll take part..." SNIP went the scissors, and the doll's head came clean off and fell to the ground. "And you can take the other!"_

_A head of ruined yellow hair fell to the ground, and Gabe screamed._

_The door opened just then, and a young-looking priest with short, dark hair took the boy by the shoulder. "I don't think you want to play with him..." Gabe didn't hear the rest, didn't see his face, didn't care, but he buried his face in his hands as his breath came shorter with each desperate gasp. He barely felt someone take him by the shoulders and pull him into the meeting room. He faintly heard someone saying that Father Jenning couldn't stay for the final disposition, and let's just get started without the Cardinal, shall we? Gabe didn't care, until he realized they were saying his name._

_"... Gabriel, you assaulted a teacher. Even your adoptive father never went so far." The headmaster's eyes were narrow as he stared him down from across a long table. There were six other priests, all old men, gray-haired, sagging ears, sallow cheeks. There was also deep, heavy silence._

_Vacantly, Gabriel realized they were expecting an answer. He had one. "He... he was touching me... I... had to stop him..."_

_"Father Ricardo would do no such thing." Gabe's guts turned to rock salt at those words, and he scrabbled at the visible hickey on his neck. "He is an upstanding man, who has taught here for some years, and I'm certain that were he fit to give his side of the story, he would contradict you."_

_"But..." Gabe swallowed, feeling smaller and weaker than ever. He patted at the mark on his neck. It still felt slimy. "I... I have... I want to call the police..."_

_"You'll do no such thing." The headmaster rose to his feet. "If you insist, I will call the police. You can spin your wild story, and I will provide proof of your physical assault. Retract your story, and I'll simply send you back to the bishop with the explanation that you're ill-suited for the cloth and to rehome you elsewhere."_

_There was a beat of silence, as the rest of the council muttered assent. Gabe heard one of them say, "This will be much easier than the last one."_

_"But.." Gabe's face and eyes burned hot, and his chest ached. "I want to be here... I want to be a priest..."_

_He had to. What else did he have? The headmaster, meanwhile, scowled, but then, just then, the door swung open._

_"Ah, here you are." Gabe turned when he recognized the voice of the older man who'd held him back, and saw an old man with bushy eyebrows at the door with Rakesh, fired up and champing at the bit at his heels._

_"Let me tell them!" Rakesh was spitting mad and shouting. "That foul teacher changed Gabriel's grades deliberately! I've seen his Latin, it's perfect! I watched that awful bastard force himself on him, how dare you-!"_

_"Rakesh, allow me." Gabriel took the old man in for the first time- red cassock and skullcap. A Cardinal. Oskar Jakobi. Gabe had heard about him from Rakesh, and briefly from Connor, he was from Rome and now traveled the world tending to the needs of the church, be it rescuing refugees or keeping order in the ranks. Gabe shot a desperate look to Rakesh, who still gritted his teeth and bit back more vitriol than he could chew. Cardinal Jakobi, though, smiled evenly and took hold of Gabe's shoulders. "Rakesh witnessed a foul assault on this young man. He was concerned, and watched their interactions, which was why he called me."_

_All eyes in the room flashed to Rakesh. He folded his arms and lifted his nose, looking precisely like the young rajah he projected in posture. "We played pinochle and mah jongg the entire airplane ride from Nepal to New York. I got his cell when we parted ways."_

_"I believe I'll be taking charge of the young man now." Gabe shuddered when Jakobi's hands landed on his shoulders, but he forced himself to look up at him. Jakobi's face was gentle, but his tone was firm. "I'll call the police myself once we've gotten somewhere a bit more private than this, and Mister Gabe here will tell his side of the story, Rakesh will corroborate, and you will not drag the Chance Harbor archdiocese into another scandal."_

_Jakobi escorted him out, with Hassan and Rakesh carrying all of their suitcases, making promises of peace and quiet, to receiving his Master of Divinity by correspondence rather than spending another second in that school, to returning to Chance Harbor, and a confided, "I'd hoped to retire somewhere I could do good work anyway." Gabe kept his mouth buttoned shut, hiding gratitude and a multitude of other, darker things behind hooded eyes and a severe expression. He could at least be proud, though, that he managed to get almost all of the way to Jakobi's sedan in the parking lot before doubling over and vomiting. Rakesh dove down after him and caught his hair and chest, as he cried and heaved, hugging his stomach in a desperate attempt to crush back the pain all over him. Gabe didn't have the strength to throw Rakesh off, even if his touch was kind, because every touch was poison and he never wanted anyone to touch him again._

_"F... Father..."_

_If it was God's will that he survive this too, then so be it. He'd taken enough at His will already, because he taketh and taketh and taketh and whoever told him that God giveth was mistaken at best and lying at worst. But fuck it. Fuck it all. If God had sent Jakobi to save him, then let him. If it was his fate to be a priest, then fuck it, so be it. Maybe if he stood at God's side, then God would taketh and taketh a little less. He didn't want to have anything left that could be taken._

_He could blame God, or himself, or both. He didn't know anymore. He never bothered to figure it out, either. All he knew was that he'd lost enough._

He hadn't lost him, not yet, and he wasn't going to. Even if he couldn't see him, hear him, anything, he had to, simply had to catch him. He had lost too much. Lost his way, he had no idea where he was or where he would go next. Lost his safe harbor, because he'd never been safe, any thoughts of safety were only ever illusion. Lost more, so much more. He hadn't wanted anything else he could lose, but it fell into his lap nonetheless...

_"Sun, sun!" He was tiny, thin, wild-haired, bright-eyed, and he scaled Father Steele's chest and shoulders with monkey-like ease. "Sun, sun!" He grasped at his hair with dirty, bone-thin fingers. Steele couldn't make himself move, because half of him was telling him to throw the filthy chimp off, but the other half pitied him. His head was probably the sun because he'd only ever heard of such a thing as sunlight. He'd probably never had clothes, family, friendship, freedom. A nest of bars, and no wings. If there were ever someone who'd been played a fool by God, it was him. Steele put his hands on the boy, peeled him off, and held him out in front of him by his chest. The boy smiled, gap-toothed, vacantly but happily, and repeated it: "Sun, sun!"_

It had been an accident, but it had happened. He had found something that could be taken. And then God did.

"If you're God, come out here!" He had a couple questions for God, all of them hollow-pointed and hot, and if he couldn't get back what had been taken from him, then damn if he wasn't going to just shoot God in the face and claw a shred of his dignity back.

The Holy Man, or God, or whatever he wanted to call himself, he just ran on, tempting, beckoning, and Steele, drawn like a ship to a beacon, pursued.

He recognized a wild goose chase when he saw it, but he had no intention of catching the goddamned bastard. One good, clean shot would end it. One, just one. Not like the three it had taken- not like before. Nothing like before.

Because he would never let that happen again.

_It was pouring rain on a dreary, cold March twilight as Connor shut the front door of the mission and turned back to Gabe where he stood. "I feel so terrible, shutting the door in weather like this, but we simply have no more room." Gabe followed him as he trailed back in, surveying the room as their tenants for the evening- Connor said tenants, though they paid nothing and sometimes didn't stay more than a night, so Gabe said tenants too- all settled into the bunks for the night. The tables were clear, the kitchen sink was clear, and the only noise left were the quiet, mundane noises of the last stragglers preparing for bed, snoring and mumbling, and the rain drumming on the tented roof. Connor had given out every blanket and pillow he had, letting people sleep wherever there was something soft and horizontal to be had. The only beds left were Connor's and Gabe's, and from the yawn leaving Connor's lips, Gabe would soon be ushered to his._

_"We did everything we could." Gabe folded his hands behind his back in unconscious imitation of Connor's posture. He was still small, he barely came up to Connor's shoulder, but he looked a little smaller because he unconsciously hunched over like Connor did. "We can't help everyone, right?"_

_"We can only try. That's a good attitude, though." Connor giggled and slowed a step to let Gabe walk at his side. "Homework done? Ready for school tomorrow?" Gabe nodded assent, and enjoyed the warmth of Connor's hand on his upper back. "Would you mind coming to look at my current draft of Sunday's sermon before bed?"_

_"Did you take out the stupid joke about Noah being the only farmer not to liquidate his stock?"_

_"Maybe." Connor innocently rolled his gaze up and away. "Come along."_

_Gabe settled in the chair behind Connor's desk as Connor unrolled his favorite vestment and set it around his shoulders to get the wrinkles out. "It's never been my color, but it feels better than the other one." Connor hummed and brushed at it. "I think it'd suit you more. Your hair is darker."_

_Gabe shrugged, and felt the weight of Connor's shadow as he sat in the chair across from him. "Have you thought about what you'd like to be when you become an adult?" Gabe shook his head, and Connor tapped his chin to make him meet his gaze. "Have you considered becoming a priest?"_

_"Yeah." Gabe shrugged again. "I thought I'd work here with you. Do you think that's okay?"_

_"If it's what you want, then of course." Connor smiled. "But don't do it for my sake. Take your own path. What about being a rock star?" Gabe scrunched his nose and shook his head, and Connor laughed at his blatant rejection. "Gracious, you have the singing voice for it, but it's your decision. I've only ever wanted you to grow strong and be happy. C-, I-"_

_There was a rattle and crash from the room next door, and Connor frowned. "Oh, dear. Stay here." He got up and made for the door, but Gabe followed. "C-"_

_"If the window's broken, I'll help you cover it."_

_Connor's frown deepened, not with anger, never anger. "Stay behind me. I'm not sure what broke the window, but I'd like to take caution." He crossed the sanctuary to the darkened chapel. The sound of the rain was louder in here, pelleting the glass windows. Gabe could see the broken window, the image of Christ feeding the five hundred on loaves and fishes shattered and gleaming with cold yellow light from the road, but as he made to approach, a trembling shadow rose against the streetlights. Connor threw a hand out to keep Gabe back, as his vision adjusted and Gabe could make out the figure of a shaking, bug-eyed man in tattered clothes, with a gun in his shuddering hand._

_"Alright, Padre," the man chattered, his voice high-pitched and quavering. "I want everything valuable you got in this joint, or-" his hand jerked, and the gun was pointed at Gabe. "I shoot the kid."_

_Connor had gone still, his gaze jerking between Gabe, who stumbled back a step, eyes wide, and the intruder. He tried to speak, his throat closing, "Don't hurt him. He's only a boy. We don't have any valuables or any money. We are a charity, we have nothing we can give you but a hot meal and a place to sleep-"_

_"Bullshit!" The intruder's hand trembled, and Connor jumped in front of Gabe._

_There was a crack, a flash of blinding light, the intruder's hand jerked up from the blowback, and Connor crumpled. Gabe could see the blood in his clothes, right at his chest, and if Connor hadn't been there, then Gabe would have been struck clean through the brain._

_If Gabe hadn't been there, Connor wouldn't have had to move in front of it. Oh God, oh God..._

_"C-" Connor laid flat, gasping for breath. The intruder was swearing and scrambling back out the window, but as Gabe made to give chase, Connor grabbed at his hand. "C-"_

"COREY!" Steele jerked, because that was Harley crying out, and he saw Harley running towards him, pasty face damp and dripping. He knew what sort of picture he surely made, stripped half-bare and exposed, his hands already callusing from the grip of his pistol, panting for breath and an ugly look on his face. His cheeks and brow were doing something that he hoped was a scowl and not a hopeless, desperate unvoiced cry for help. Harley stopped short. "Corey, I know you're upset, but you have to come with me- we can still save him!"

"Shut up! I'm not some idiot who can't face fucking facts!" Steele's gun arm came up on instinct, his hand trembling as he lined his sights on Harley. "Stay out of my way!"

"Corey-! Please!" Harley held his hands out, and Steele trembled with every repetition of his boyhood name...

_"Won't you introduce yourself?" He'd been very small when Connor had first started to ask this question of him. When he was very small, he always shook his head and buried his face in Connor's pant leg, and Connor would always have to laugh him off. "Goodness, I'm sorry, he's so shy! This is my son, Corey."_

_When he got too big to hide behind Connor, he'd press his lips shut and hang his head. Connor would sigh and shake his head. "I'm sorry, he's so terribly shy. I've spoiled him, I'm afraid; he's so used to talking to me, he's not used to talking to anyone else." Connor crouched and tugged his sleeve. "This is an old friend of mine. Tell him your name."_

_He glanced up at Connor's friend, dark-haired, dark-eyed, glinting glasses and a quirky smirk. He didn't like that smile, only an idiot would pretend it was friendly. He shook his head, and mumbled, "I'm Gabe. I'm just here with the Father."_

_The other priest chuckled humorlessly, his curious gaze resting on Connor's face. "I remember you mentioning your ward. Something about a bird, not an angel."_

_"He prefers to go by his middle name sometimes. Names have power, don't you know? One's name is reflective of himself, and in old pagan magic, they say you have to know someone's name to control them. Then again, we're civilized men of God who don't believe in fairy stories, right?" Connor giggled and tousled Gabe's hair under his fingers, as his friend sneered a bit. "But even so, you changed your birth name, didn't you?"_

_Corey would never change his birth name. Stupid and silly as it was, he'd heard the story too many times to want to forget it. Connor took nearly every excuse he had to repeat it to Corey._

_"Corey-" Connor wheezed, his hand extended towards him as he screamed and shouted for someone to call an ambulance, struggling between running after the shooter and staying at Connor's side. The mission's residents, roused by the noise, all scurried into a panic. "Corey." Corey whipped around, because even that weak gasp sounded strained. He threw away any thoughts of catching the killer and dove down to Connor's side._

_"Don't move," he blubbered, tears coming unbidden and unwanted as he grasped Connor's hand. "Don't move, don't, they're calling 911 now, you're going to be okay."_

_"Corey, do you know why I gave you that name?" Connor's trembling hand landed on Corey's head, and slowly, jerkily stroked through. Corey winced, because of course he did, he'd heard the story a thousand times._

_"Don't talk, please, don't." Corey used the bottom of Connor's cassock to try to stem the flow, but his chest was soaking wet, clothes thick and sopping, and the blood was pooling dark and deep around him in an ocean that anyone could drown in._

_"It was just past midnight, the last night of November, less than fourteen years ago." Every word Connor said was coming straight from his heart, and seemed to deflate him, bit by bit. "I was driving home from a conference in the mountains, but found I was having car troubles."_

_Corey winced. Usually, Connor would tell him about the classic Ford sedan he and Tom had been fixing up, how the gas line had clogged, how Tom had scolded him later for taking it out before it was finished, but he was skipping that part of the story._

_"I was stopped on a bridge over some branch of the Potomac, waiting for Tom to pick me up and enjoying the full moon, when I saw a young woman standing close by. We were far from civilization, so I was certain she was a lost hiker when I approached, until I saw she was only carrying something in her arms."_

_"Connor, please!" He didn't even know what he was begging for anymore. Anything but this. The tenants were gathering at the door, and Corey could only pray for sirens. Connor giggled, a wet, thick, rolling noise, and stroked Corey's hair again._

_"She looked at me, wide-eyed and terrified, and pushed you into my arms, because yes, that was you. Still pink and soft, barely six hours old, as bald as a fledgling, and so cute. You were the most radiant thing, so precious, so wonderful, and I got lost in those eyes of yours." Connor's eyes crinkled into deep crow's feet at the corners, and though his smile was as warm and kind as it always was, he'd never looked so old. Corey twisted his fingers in Connor's cassock, as if his hands could press the wound shut. It wasn't stopping. He couldn't help. Connor let his eyes fall shut, but continued. "I looked back, but the girl was gone, nowhere to be seen." Corey cringed again at the thought. Connor had never said what had happened to the girl. He'd put together that she'd probably jumped, because Connor would have heard her running. He would have died with her, and Connor wouldn't be bleeding out onto the chapel floor._

_"Please, Father," Corey whimpered. "You have to hold on."_

_"Oh, dear, sweet boy." Connor cupped Corey's face, his eyes coming open again, watery and already gray. "If this is God's will, so it must be." His thumb brushed against Corey's chin, and Corey's entire face crumpled with tears. Connor closed his eyes again, and whispered the end of the story, like he always did. "I looked all over for the girl, but as I turned for the moon, a great black cormorant took wing from below, its whole wingspan swallowing the light for a moment as it cast its way west for the mountains, and that, darling, that was a sign from God himself." His lips formed a sweet, sincere crescent, and his thumb brushed the tears from the hollow under Corey's eye. "You, Cormorant Gabriel Steele, you will be greater, you will be stronger, you will outshine moon and sun and everything. I believe that. I always have. Wherever you go, whatever you do, your name will be a herald of your power. Let that strength be your legacy."_

_Connor closed his thin hand around Corey's small palm, and for a moment, every taunt of "bird brain" or "ugly duckling" didn't matter. His name, stupid as it was, was the first gift Connor had given him. He'd given him more, so much more, love, comfort, understanding, his only safe place and security, things that couldn't be taken or stolen but things that Corey would never find anywhere else. This reminder was Connor's last gift. Connor's grip tightened for a moment, then fell slack. Connor exhaled and sank flat, his eyes falling shut again, and was still._

_Corey felt walls come up inside of himself, closing in these last reminders of Connor, the only person he'd ever wanted to love, as he faded from the world. He knew he'd never feel his love again, and he broke..._

"Corey." Harley tried to speak calmly, but a frisson of fear made his voice quaver. "I know it hurts you. I know you're thinking of what happened to Father Steele."

"Shut up. You don't know anything." The barrel of the pistol bumped Harley's temple, and Harley flinched.

"Corey-"

"Stop saying that name like it means anything!"

Harley swallowed, and put both of his hands up. "What will shooting me accomplish?" Father Steele didn't answer aloud, but he knew: waste of a bullet. He turned from Harley, glaring out and around for any sign of the gunman. He caught a shadow in the window of a warehouse, and darted across the street, but Harley gave chase and caught his hand again. "We need to go to the hospital-"

"Shut up and stay out of my way." Steele ducked down behind a dumpster, as Harley yanked at his arm. He ground his teeth and hushed him. "Either stay back or leave! I'm dealing with this myself, damn it!"

"Corey," Harley repeated it, significantly, because he'd read somewhere that hostage negotiators will use the names of whoever they were talking to as much as possible to ground them, and God, if he had just an ounce of Connor's grace, it might have been enough. "Even if you are chasing the right person-"

"I am."

There was a flicker of shadow in the window, and Steele fired at it. The limber shadow twisted out of it, almost inhumanly, and there was more laughter. "Oh, Daddy, are we still playing? I'm getting bored." Harley's eyes widened.

"He sounds like a child."

"Shut up!" Steele hurried forward into the lamplight, because if the fucker shot at him, he would get better aim. Sure enough, though, now that he knew Steele was close, Steele was catching glimpses of shadows in all the windows, and how the fuck was he doing that?! Steele turned around and around, but could grasp nothing tangible of the gunman, and only heard more wild laughter. "You haven't changed at all, have you?" Steele roared, and fired at more of the windows. They shattered, and the shadows vanished from behind them, but there was no cry, no scream, no satisfaction. He kept firing, firing until there was nothing left to fire. He grasped at his pockets, but found no bullets. The gunman laughed again, and the light above Steele shattered with a pop and a shower of glass. "Game over. You lose! Better luck next time!" There was a flash from above, a shadow vanishing across the moon from the rooftop across the road from the warehouse, and Steele's eyes flared.

Fuck it! He didn't need bullets! All he had to go was get his hands around the scrawny bastard, and-

Harley steeled himself, rushed in, and seized Steele's hands again before he could give chase. "Cormorant Gabriel Steele, this is not how you were raised and I know it! Your father-"

"My father is dead!" He threw Harley off, but Harley seized his wrists and held him fast, his eyes lit by the moon and panic.

"I know, and I know that hurts you!" Harley wished, dearly, that he could make his body talk like Connor's could, but he knew that even if he could speak to him without words, Steele wasn't listening to him. It didn't mean he wouldn't try. He dropped to his knees on the street in front of Steele, hands clasped. "I know it killed part of you to watch someone take his life and walk away from it, and it's waking up all your old wounds to know someone could do it to you again, but for God's sake, Corey, Gage is still alive and needs his Dad! Please!"

Steele snarled and shoved Harley down, then vaulted over him. The pistol was still hot in his grip, burning, aching, and even without bullets, he wasn't letting this go.

Some sane part of him was whispering now that he could, or should go to Gage, but the rest of knew-  _knew-_  it would only be to clasp his tiny hand as the light left his eyes and left him in the dark. At least he knew-  _knew for certain-_  that his pistol could do something.

_"Not sleeping again?" Jakobi was standing at the top of the stairwell, as Gabe sat curled on his bed at his window, staring down at the courtyard behind the mission. Rain poured from the heavens as if from a bucket, the dim light from the street lamps scattering in faint fireworks from the flooded sidewalks. Gabe didn't look up as the old Cardinal seated himself on the edge of his bed. "Holding it in won't help. If you want to talk to me, or talk to anybody, you only ever need say so." Gabe hugged his knees tighter to his chest. Jakobi hummed, and Gabe heard him rummage in his pockets. "If you won't let me in, then can I at least make you feel a little safer?" Something solid bumped Gabe's hip, and Gabe glanced down to see Jakobi offering a snub-nosed pistol. "I got this for myself in case I ever needed to defend myself, but if you'd like, you can carry it. Call it self-defense."_

_He could protect himself. Maybe he could protect all of himself. He closed his hand, still so small, around the pistol's grip. It was small enough that his hand could hold it, but not so small that it would be useless when he became a man. Jakobi patted his back as he rose. "Please talk to me sometime. There must be something better than keeping it all inside." He drifted for the door, and Gabe immediately put the pistol to his own head and pulled the trigger._

_No bullets. Jakobi sighed._

_"Someday, Corey, that won't be the only way you want to let things out."_

That day wasn't today. This gun had kept him safe, bullets or no, and if he had nothing else, he had that to hold onto. That was the thought he clasped in his heart and head as he ran on, blind in the dark, even under the bold light of the moon. He ran on, his cassock heavy around him and his every step weighted, ready to search every corner of the city if he had to.

God had taken enough.

Harley, flat on his back on a bed of broken glass, grimaced at his own cut hands. "I..." He choked out a weak laugh. "When is... the last time...?" He let his hands fall uselessly onto his face.

* * *

He could sleep anywhere, even noisy, crowded hospital waiting rooms. Despite the constant grumble of noise, sirens, and the stale, recycled air, Jo had fallen asleep somewhere in the night, or so he assumed, because someone was shaking him awake. A woman in a surgeon's cap and gown had her hands on his shoulders. "I was told you brought in the young boy with the gunshot wounds."

He blinked back the last scraps of a dreamless, fitful rest, and nodded. "Gage. Uh, Summers. Is he-"

"He's out of surgery and in recovery." The doctor took the seat across from him and put her hand over his on his knee. Jo sat upright to listen intently. "There were three entry and exit wounds. The bullets cleared him completely. One of the bullets went through his side, hit nothing vital. Two went through the periphery of his lungs, but they missed his heart completely. Fortunately, since he's young, he should be able to make a full recovery and live a full and healthy life, but he's not entirely through the woods yet. We had to take a lot of blood out of his lungs, and if he survives the next few nights, we'll go back to do further repair on his muscles. It may be some time before he can do any strenuous physical activity again."

Jo took it in, then managed a relieved laugh and dug his hand into his hair. "Lady, I don't care if the little bastard never walks again or anything, he's alive, and that's all that matters. Where is he? Can I see him?"

"I'm afraid not." Jo slumped, crestfallen, and the doctor patted his hand. "I need to speak with his guardian."

"Uh, we ain't been able to find the Padre yet. Father Steele," he corrected. "I gave 'em his cell and the mission number in case he's gone back there, and my buddy's out looking for him on foot, but..." Jo trailed off, and shrugged down, eyes low. "Someone's gotta sit with the kid, though. Kid shouldn't be alone."

The doctor's eyes batted down to Jo's hand, her lips slumped with sympathy. "I'm afraid that while he's critical, hospital policy is only to allow family."

"I'm the closest thing he's got right now." Jo brought his legs in, and the doctor touched his shoulder.

"He's completely unconscious anyway, and I don't expect him to wake for some time, and that's if we don't keep him under sedation to keep him from going into shock." Jo grimaced, and the doctor squeezed. He must have looked pretty pitiful. "We're keeping a very close watch on him. I strongly recommend you go home, change your clothes-" Jo realized she was looking him over, at the blood staining his shirt and pants, and felt guilt wring his insides- "Shower, and come back in a few hours." She smiled, but he couldn't force himself to return it. He didn't want to get up, but he didn't know if he had any other choice.

"Listen, ma'am, that kid, he's like a brother to me. You tell him, if he wakes up, that Jojo's gonna be back soon, and he's gonna have a real special surprise for him."

"Of course." The doctor stepped back, as Jo reluctantly dragged his feet for the door. The sliding doors swept open just as Jo reached them, and Harley jogged in, shaking and sweating.

"Joel... I... I couldn't-" Harley didn't need to finish. The fact that he was alone told Jo all he needed to know.

"Hey." He put both hands on Harley's shoulders and held him there, their eyes meeting. "You did all you could. The doctor lady back there told me that Gage made it through, we just gotta wait and see. It's okay." He smiled at Harley, a warm smile that he didn't feel but that he knew Harley needed to see. "Kid's got us. I'm gonna change out of these nasty clothes, and I'll be back." Harley's lost expression flickered to relief, and Jo let him go gently and trudged out the door.

He might have been having trouble thinking about everything between him and Harley, but holding him- comforting him- came as natural as anything else. He just put that uncomfortable paradox in the stack of things he didn't want to think about, and walked on. He had to do what was best for Gage, and he could at least figure that out.

* * *

After speaking with Harley, the doctor led him to the ICU room where Gage was recovering. The very sight of it turned Harley's knees to jelly. Tiny Gage, not even five feet tall and hardly eighty-five pounds, with tubes and wires hooked and patched to his chest, stuffed down into his nose, the hum and hiss of oxygen machines, the rhythmic grumble of something pumping blood from his belly, and the steady chirp-pause-chirp of a heart monitor. The machinery attached to him probably weighed more than he did. He was barely visible. Harley maintained his composure, and forced a weak smile for the doctor.

"I'll be fine sitting here in the hall. If he wakes, I'd like to be here."

An orderly brought him a chair and he found a book in one of the waiting rooms, and he perched himself there, reading without comprehending. There was no natural light in the hall, so Harley couldn't sense when night eventually became sunrise except for the eventual shift change. He wouldn't have paid attention to light, noise, time, any of it anyway. He was affixed instead to the even rhythm of the heart monitor, each beep and blip. It remained at the same tempo for hours on end, and that was cold comfort. At least Gage's heart was still beating. Every beat was a relief.

Then, his heart beat came faster, picking up speed, and Harley twisted around to see Gage's face and hands twitching. He burst to his feet and ran to the nurse's station. "He's coming awake. Hurry!"

A doctor, a middle-aged man Harley didn't recognize, entered, with two nurses, and Harley pressed his face and nose to the window as the doctor examined him. He could see Gage blinking, but not responding to the doctor's questions. "Okay, he's groggy," he whispered to himself. "Go back to sleep, please go back to sleep."

Footsteps behind him. Jo jogged to his side, dressed in clean clothes, hair wet and pulled back, a heavy shoulder bag slapping against his side. "Hey, what's goin' on?"

"He's waking up!"

"Thank Christ." Jo smiled, but Harley didn't.

"Joel, this could be incredibly bad."

"D-" All ears tuned to Gage when his mouth moved. "Dad?"

The doctor glanced back to Harley and Jo. Harley shook his head, and the doctor spoke in gentle, dulcet tones. "Your Dad's not here, but he'll be here soon."

"D... Dad..." Gage's voice crackled, raspy and rough. "Dad..." He was getting louder, too. "Dad...?"

"He's not here." The doctor turned to the nurse. "He's delirious. Let's give him another sedative. He might hurt himself if he can't comprehend his situation." The nurse nodded and readied a needle, but Gage whooped in air and screamed:

"DAD! I WANT DAD! NO! NO! NO! DON'T!" His arms and legs all lashed out at once, tearing the tubes from his arms and knocking the poles and bags holding the machines over. He launched to his feet, swinging and screaming, and Harley clasped his hands over his mouth.

"Jo, he's twenty-four hours off of his medicine. Jo- He's-!"

Gage bellowed, and Harley didn't have to finish. The demon was unleashed.


	19. Heart of Steele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Harley face off with a rampaging Gage, and Steele faces himself and his dark reflection.

**Staying Straight**

**19: Heart of Steele**

Gage roared inhumanly, throwing his arms and whipping the poles attached to the cords in his arm at the nurses, then threw the chair next to his bed at the window. Jo and Harley ducked under it just in time for it to crash through the glass, showering their backs as the chair itself collided with the wall and cracked it. He screamed again, louder, impossibly, throwing his fists down and screeching. "DAD! DAD! I WANT DAD! DAD!" One of the nurses hit a panic button somewhere, and sirens wound up all throughout the ward. Harley clasped his hands to his face.

"Oh God, Gage, no."

The nurses tried to capture his arms so the doctor could sedate him, but he twisted and writhed out of every hold they tried to catch him in. Jo could see them gingerly avoiding all the bandages and tubes hooked to him, but that only gave him an advantage, whether he knew it or not. The tube had already been yanked from his nose, blood sluggishly dripping after it, and his skin was turning angry red where the ones that were still hooked in were pulling. Jo motioned to them, but Harley shook his head. "He feels no pain when he's like this. He's unintelligible. He can't be reasoned with. There's only one thing that's ever worked..."

"Father Steele." Jo answered and grimaced. "That son of a bitch!"

There were a series of heavy footfalls, and Jo whipped around to see security guards approaching. Harley gasped, and tugged Jo's sleeve. "Joel!" Jo realized he was staring at the guards' Tazers at their hips. "He's so small, Joel, even if he can't feel pain- we have to do something."

"What the hell can we do?!" Jo gestured wildly, eyes wide, hands held out and clutching at empty air. Gage roared again, and Jo swallowed hard, then shouted over the uproar as the doctor and nurses shouted at one another and the security guards. "Look at the kid, his power level's over nine thousand! I ain't goin' in there!"

"He knows us. Maybe-" Harley's gaze snapped away to the security guards and their weapons, then back to Jo, despair making his eyes wide, struggling to breathe or swallow. "Joel, we have to try."

Jo opened his mouth to protest, but a second look at the guards made him bite his lip and think twice. He swallowed hard, pushing his fear down, and stood upright. The doctor turned, ready to speak to the security guard, but Jo stuck his chest out and marched to the door. "Let us talk to him!"

"You're not family!" One of the nurses swiped a hand. "Get out, and get out of the way!"

"We're the closest thing to family he's got, he'll listen!" The nurse puckered her face up to snap back, but Jo retorted before she could. "Hey, you ain't gettin' the job done! Let us try it our way!"

"Let them," the security guard rumbled from behind. Jo glanced to his stern face, and saw that he was studying Gage's figure and probably realized what Harley had: if someone tried to use actual force on him, Gage wouldn't be getting up. The doctor was the first to step out of the room, and the nurses followed, backing away, leaving Gage standing, heaving like a bull, in the center of the room. Jo dropped his bag at the door, dropped his jacket over it, and rolled his shoulders back. Harley took his overshirt off and folded it onto the pile, then cracked his knuckles, and the two of them entered the room together.

Gage didn't react, swaying weakly in place but staying on his feet. Liquids Jo didn't want to think about were leaking from the tubes onto the floor, the heart monitor was detached and flatlining in an ear-piercing, shrill hum. Gage wasn't reacting to any of it, eyes wild and inhuman but eyelids dragged low with weariness. If Jo hadn't just seen him wrecking everything in arm's reach, he would think the kid could've been knocked over with a feather to the nose, but he wasn't buckling. "We got a game plan, Harl?"

"I suggest we calm him down."

"Worth a go." Jo inched in, crouching to get at Gage's eye level, and Harley kept his distance, but moved towards Gage's peripheral vision. "Hey, buddy, it's Jojo, yeah?" Gage's gaze snapped to him and fixed like glue, and Jo swallowed. His eyes were almost luminescent in the dim light from the hallway, brown nearly gold, and with a snarl wrenching his mouth into an ugly shape, he hardly looked human. He also didn't look at Jo with even remote recognition. Jo swallowed hard, and got low to the ground. "C'mon, kid, you know Jojo. Jojo's your friend, yeah?" Gage didn't answer, but growled, teeth gleaming. Jo had seen the kid tear through pizza and grilled cheese like a monster. He didn't want to see what he did with that mouth when he didn't have any control over it. Jo held his hands out. "C'mere, lemme see you, okay? You're hurt, and I-"

Gage swung his arms out, seized Jo's shoulders, and pulled Jo's gut into his bent knee. Jo gagged and doubled over onto Gage's foot, and Gage lifted his leg with ease, launching Jo into the wall. Jo rolled back up to his feet to see Harley putting his hands on Gage's shoulder.

"That's enough. You're hurting him. Gage, I know you know me. You need to stop."

Gage whipped his head around, eyes narrowing, then slammed his hand down onto Harley's, yanked the taller, thinner man past him, and threw him, stumbling into Jo. Jo caught Harley before the both of them toppled, and got him steady. Gage was panting harder now, but it was colored with snatches of mad laughter.

"Want... Dad..." He stretched his hand out, teeth bared in a menacing smile. "Gimme Dad...!"

Jo spoke into Harley's ear without breaking his gaze away from Gage. "Okay, I don't know how calm he's gonna get like this."

"Nor I." Harley, too, was staring, but his eyes rested on the needle left on the table. "If we can restrain him, we may be able to sedate him."

"Restr-" Jo swallowed it, and rolled his shoulders back. "Fine. I ain't givin' up." He pushed past Harley. "C'mere, you monkey brat, give Jojo a hug!"

Jo seized Gage's shoulders, and Gage lifted his knee again. Jo arched his belly back to dodge, then swept Gage's leg. Gage scooted his leg back and wound the motion into another wild kick, knocking Jo to the ground, then dove on top of him to punch his chest, hard. Jo rolled to the side, mindful of the cords still hanging off of his neck and nose, to dump Gage onto the ground. He caught his head with a hand under it, and Gage dropped his head onto his palm, smashing it on the tiles. Jo swore and pulled back, but Harley rushed in to grab Gage's arms from behind. Gage jerked forward to break out of it, then spun around and headbutted Harley in the chin. Harley cried out, and Jo's stomach ached.

"We're your friends, you little idiot!" Jo pushed past Harley and caught both of Gage's fists. "What do I gotta do to get through to you?!"

Gage kicked Jo in the groin, and Jo crumpled, moaning. He grimaced as Gage jumped on his back, giggling madly, and tried to think of how many ways he could have just punched him in the face and gut and knocked him back, but the thought of putting his hands on Gage made him feel even sicker. He raised a hand to try to push him back by his sternum, but Gage twisted his neck around and bit down on Jo's arm. Jo yelled and yanked his arm back, feeling the skin tear, but not looking to see if he was bleeding. He was stuck on the horrifying look of glee on Gage's face as he licked his teeth.

Jo pulled his legs in and rolled from where he'd fallen and rose up again. Harley had caught Gage, but his hold was awkward, and he splayed his arms and legs out and screeched. Harley cringed, and scrambled his hands to try to hold him through his clothes. Gage, meanwhile, elbowed Harley in the stomach, and when Harley released him in surprise, he wound around with his hands clasped like a mace to strike at his face. He swiped Harley's glasses, sending them flying and skittering across the floor, and Harley gasped and clutched at his face. Jo groaned, shaking his head. "Gage, listen to me! Do you want to kill us?!"

Gage seemed to freeze up at that. Jo felt a wash of relief; maybe that had registered in his scrambled brains. Harley crawled for his glasses, and Jo held his arms open. "You like me, doncha? We're buds. Best friends. Me, and Harl, we're your best friends. Like Sana's your best friend. And the Chess Prince is your best friend. We don't hurt you. Do best friends do this crap to each other?!" Gage shivered, then shook his head, then grabbed his scalp and hyperventilated in raspy half-screams. Jo slowly closed in, then wrapped his arms tight around Gage's chest and forearms, squeezing as tight as he could.

"D-Dad..." His gasps turned to angry sobs, and he buried his face in Jo's chest, unable to move his head more. "I... want... Dad..."

"I know." Jo managed to move his hand down Gage's back enough to stroke it without losing his grip. He nodded over his shoulder to Harley at Gage's exposed arm. Harley pushed his glasses up his nose and grabbed the needle and an alcohol swab from the table, and soundlessly crept into Gage's blind spot. Jo tugged the hospital gown off of Gage's shoulder, and whispered into his ear: "I know you miss your Dad, kiddo, but we love you, too." As Jo spoke, Harley injected Gage with the sedative, then held his own sleeve over the injection wound and held his hand out to the nurses.

"Bandage, please."

The nurses and doctor traded surprised looks, but one of the nurses joined in to help bandage Gage up. Gage's grunts dissolved completely, and he nuzzled Jo's shoulder tenderly, wearily. "Jojo... I... Dad..." Jo shushed him, and caught him as his legs went limp.

"Attaboy, monkeybrains, it's time to rest a while." He hoisted Gage into his arms, still aching from the hits he'd taken, but hell if he was going to falter now. The doctor motioned for him to follow and led them to another room. He continued muttering shushes and nonsense to Gage, ignoring as the doctor apologized to Harley for not having his medicines on hand and probably begged him not to sue them. "We're gonna take a nice long rest, and soon, you're gonna feel tons better. Gonna have a sleepover, little monkey, just you wait and see."

"M'not... monkey..."

Jo snickered. It may not have been Gage, but he was still in there.

Jo laid Gage down in a fresh bed and stood back as the nurses and Harley hooked him up to new machines, but when he pulled away, Gage whined and reached after him. "No, you stay." Pointless, since the kid was basically a wet noodle, but that was no reason to give him grief. "See, I got a big surprise for ya. Didn't they tell ya Jojo had a surprise for ya?" Gage, wide-eyed, started to mumble in Harley's general direction, and Jo nipped out, grabbed his bag and Harley's shirt, and came back to the room. He set the laptop on the lunch tray and broke out a stack of DVDs. "Check it out, buddy, I got us Batman."

"Bat... man?"

"Hell yeah, Batman." Jo grinned wearily, shaking the orange-and-yellow pinwheel cover with a man in a rubber suit punching a thief with a huge BAM! sound effect graphic behind it. "I got us the best Batman. We're having a sleepover, you, me, an' Harl, and we're gonna watch Batman, and Top Gun, and the good Lord of the Rings movies, none of that Peter Jackson junk." Gage took in Jo's face, then tiredly matched his enthusiastic smile.

"Batman."

Jo sat on the bed next to Gage and put the movie in, and stroked Gage's hair as he stupidly hummed the theme song. Harley pulled a chair up to sit on Gage's other side and held his hand, and Jo turned the volume up a little to be heard over the wheezing, whirring machines. The doctor slipped around and whispered into Jo's ear, "You're going to want someone to look at that bite wound."

"Someone's gonna have to do it right here, because you're gonna need a crowbar to pull me away from this little bastard right now."

Jo kept stoic as one of the nurses cleaned and bandaged his arm, only flinching at the stitches. He counted nine, and guessed the rest of the teeth hadn't gone in deep enough to get sewn up. Gage's mouth was busy otherwise now, chattering at the flickering images on the screen in babyish chatter. Once Jo's arm was patched and Harley quietly assured them his injuries were superficial at worst, they were left mostly alone. Nurses came in and out to check on them every half hour or so, but they didn't make them turn the movies off. Gage seemed barely aware, dazed but enthralled, and kept talking to Harley and Jo under the noise. They both indulged him, straining to listen to him in case he made even a peep, but luckily, it was all gibberish and stupid enjoyment.

"Didja see? S' so cool..."

"Mhm." Jo agreed, and wrapped his arm tighter around Gage's shoulder. Harley, too, nodded.

"It's pretty amazing. Perhaps we'll watch it again later."

This garnered a huge smile, despite Gage's swollen cheeks and the tubes in his nose. "Later... sounds good..."

They humored him for the entire Batman movie and about half of Top Gun, until he finally fell asleep on Jo's shoulder. Then, Jo carefully detangled himself from Gage's oxygen tube and some stuff he couldn't identify, and he and Harley let the doctor give Gage's surgical wounds a full examination. Harley tugged Jo's sleeve in the direction of the hospital cafeteria, and Jo let him lead.

Harley tossed Jo a few anxious looks as they walked, and spoke up once they were out of the ICU. "That was incredible, Joel." He sounded immensely relieved, contrite and grateful all at once, and his expression was unmistakably happy. "You saved him. I'm sure they would have killed him if you hadn't-"

"It's no big deal." Jo shrugged and folded his arms. "Just did what I had to do."

"Jo." There was a lot of weight and meaning in the way Harley said his name, and Harley halted in place to take hold of Jo's forearm. "It was something nobody else could do. You were wonderful. Thank you."

Jo's ears and cheeks felt uncomfortably hot and taut, and he couldn't tell what he was doing with his face when Harley looked directly into his eyes. He shrugged again and muttered, "It's what anyone would do. Got the shit kicked out of me, anyway. 'Sides, Gage is a good kid. He deserves someone to yank his ass out of the fire." Jo's head dropped, suddenly just too heavy for him to hold up. "Don't everyone? Especially him. I mean, he needs someone. And... he's the closest I got to a brother." Jo's fist curled tight at his side, and he hoped to God he wasn't crying. "That little... fucking... bastard." His fist hit the wall behind him, and he broke away from Harley. "I need a smoke."

Harley clearly understood and stayed back as Jo trudged for the front door. Jo ducked his head to avoid anyone who might be looking at him, and strode out into the circle outside of the emergency room entrance. Of course hospitals had to be strict about their smoke areas, but at least there were benches, and they had the courtesy to put a few flowers in the ground next to the ashtray. Jo wasn't in the mood for flowers. Hell, he wasn't even in the mood for a cigarette. Instead, he whipped out his phone, scrolled down the list, and hit the dialer.

He took a breath to gather his thoughts as the other end rang, then listened to the default answering machine message. Of course, that stupid old man hadn't figured out how to set a custom voicemail message. Instead, Jo waited for the beep, examined his collected thoughts, then cast them to the wind and let his mouth run:

"Hey, asshole!"

* * *

He'd promised himself, five minutes. Five minutes to rest his eyes, then catch up with the bastard he was chasing. He'd crouched down next to a shipping container in a maze of many, folded his arms tight around his head to block out the streetlights, and rested his eyes.

He'd opened them to sunlight and the distant groan of a foghorn, followed by a buzz in his pocket. Father Steele grimaced as he blinked back into lucidity, and realized that his five minutes had turned into morning, and he groaned and slammed his fist into the box behind him. His stupid body had given out on him, and he'd lost the gunman.

He'd lost more than that.

It took a lot of effort for Father Steele to get up to a stand again, but he managed it, his legs shaking as the blood flow came back. Even on his feet, though, he had no motivation. No motion. He groped blindly at his pocket, numbly wondering who would bother calling him, and instinctively scoffed when he saw who'd called.

He held the phone to his ear and braced himself for abuse.

_"Hey, asshole!"_

Predictable.

_"Where the fuck are you?!"_ Steele grunted at Jo as if he were listening, and settled himself on a crate to scowl at the scraped, dusty sidewalk.  _"You fucking asshole, why the fuck would you just run off all half-cocked like a goddamned idiot without even thinking?! Christ, what's the kid gonna think when he remembers this?"_  This made Steele's breath catch. Jo was talking in the future tense. As if there was a future.  _"You told me-_ _told_ _me!- that the kid understood you, 'cause you fucking suck at telling him how you feel. Well, what's he gonna get from this?! You're his fucking sun, moon, and stars, and when he needs you, you fucking vanish! You think he'll understand this?! You're his fucking dad, the fuck do you think you're doing?!"_  Jo's voice cracked, and he panted for breath into his receiver, as Steele held the phone out from his head, his ears ringing. Steele heard him trying to compose himself before he could continue:  _"Fucking abandoned him. Piece of shit. I thought I knew you better than that."_  And at that, Jo sounded more than broken.  _"He needs his medicine, you cunt. If you can't do anything else for him... Christ, you're the only one who can give him that."_  The line went dead there, and Steele's mind went completely blank.

He checked the time on Jo's message, to find it was scarcely ten minutes ago. He set his phone back into his pocket, and lifted his gaze to the sky.

"Sun, moon, and stars." Steele turned his feet for the city center, his lips and face tight. "God damn it."

* * *

Gage hadn't woken up since Harley and Jo had gotten him to sleep again. It had given both of them time to eat, scantly talking over overpriced, mediocre reheated sandwiches in the too-bright, too-clean dining hall, then settling again in the waiting room nearest Gage's. Jo had brought Harley a few of his books, and he chose one and opened it in his lap, but he gradually dozed off with his thumb still on the page. Jo had his laptop and browsed through the job listings on Craigslist, etching off each possibility before he finished reading them. Not smart enough for that, not educated enough, would they even hire an ex-con? What was even the point of looking? He only broke out of his funk when Harley slumped onto his shoulder. Jo frowned and raised an eyebrow as he took in what had happened, and carefully set his laptop on the table beside him, moving his upper body as little as he could.

Even if he couldn't think with Harley right there, or with everything else swimming in his head, he didn't want to wake him up.

Harley woke after about half an hour, smearing his lips and startling when his fingers brushed Jo's skin. "I'm sorry."

"You're cool." Jo shrugged, then leaned forward and glance significantly down the hall. "It's been a while. Think we should maybe check on the kid?"

"I can ask." Harley rose, turning away from Jo quickly, and marched to the nurse's station. Jo didn't hear their conversation, but one of the nurses joined Harley and led him towards Gage's room. Jo shoved his laptop under the chair and crept closer to listen in. He couldn't make out what the nurse was telling Harley, but he heard Gage's voice.

"Harl...? H... Da...?"

"Shhh." Jo peeked in the window to see Harley stroking Gage's hair, and Gage leaned into his touch like a cat. He was limp, and Jo just knew the new needle stuck in his arm was probably dripping raw sleepy juice into him, but fuck, at least he wasn't throwing chairs. Jo stepped back, relieved for a second, but then felt the hair on the back of his neck stand upright. He pivoted around and saw Father Steele approaching.

Jo's stomach launched into his throat, and all the words came right with it. "You son of a bitch!" He rushed Steele, already swinging, but Steele caught his wrist and wrenched it out of the way. "What gives you the fucking right-!"

"Move," Steele growled, his expression dark and clouded, his voice hoarse and ragged. "You called me. You told me to come."

"You stupid motherfucker!" Jo seized and squeezed Steele's arms, wishing he could tear them off just so he could beat the stupid blond shit to death with them. His face was hot and tight again, and he hated that feeling. "You stupid asshole, he had a fit! He broke a fucking window! He bit me so hard I bled! They were gonna taze him, he could'a died!"

"Oh, thank God, you're here!" Harley suddenly rushed in and threw his arms around Steele, knocking Jo's hands away and hugging onto him tight. Jo reared up to protest, until he realized Steele was shuddering with his head bowed into Harley's shoulder. Harley cringed into the embrace. "We nearly lost him."

Steele shook, then unfolded into Harley's hold, and Jo heard him sob. Then, without hesitating, Jo wrapped an arm around Steele's shoulder and rubbed his back. "Hey, man. You made it. He'll be happy you're here."

Father Steele only released Harley when he'd managed to calm himself, then growled a quiet demand for a damp cloth. Harley hurriedly obeyed, and Steele wiped his eyes clean. Then, he went to the nurse's station to introduce himself. "Gage Summers is my son. What do I have to do?"

After filling out a stack of paperwork with nary a complaint, Father Steele pulled out the medicines from his pocket and handed them over to the nurse. "I'd like to give him a dose now. I'm allowed to see him, right?"

Jo and Harley watched from the window as Steele entered Gage's room. Steele was chilled, wide-eyed and tight-lipped, at the sight of all the machines hooked into Gage's arms and chest, but he shook it off to crouch down where Gage could see him. He stroked his hair a few times, then gently opened his mouth. Gage opened his eyes when Steele touched his lip, and smiled. "D... Da...?"

"I'm here." Steele pushed the first of Gage's pills into his mouth. "Don't chew. Swallow." He helped Gage take a sip of water, holding a cup to his lips, then fed him the second pill just the same. He watched Gage's throat work, then gently snapped his finger against his forehead. "Open." Gage obediently held his mouth open, and Steele nodded, then shut his mouth for him. "Good boy. I'm going to be here from now on, so don't worry."

Gage smiled, though his jaw was still as sore and heavy as the rest of him and it obviously took effort that he shouldn't have had. "Sun..." He extended a hand to reach for Steele's head, but Steele leaned in and put his hand to Gage's cheek.

"Yes." He tilted his head to look directly down into Gage's eyes, and took in his face as if he'd never had another chance. "Do you know why I gave you your name?" Gage cocked his head, which only pressed his cheek into Steele's palm. Steele's lips curved into an uneasy smile. "Summers. There's always sunshine in the summer." He kissed Gage's cheek, then eased him back down. "All summers, no rain." He smoothed Gage's nightgown down, and Harley and Jo traded smiles behind the window as Steele hummed Gage back to sleep.

They waited for him to emerge, his smile cooling to his stoic neutral as he joined them and spoke under his breath. "I'll be staying here with him as much as I'm allowed, but I can't keep the mission shelter open when I'm not there to run it. I'd say it's a difficult decision, but it isn't. Gage has to take priority. I need the two of you to go clear all the current tenants out, call the volunteers and let them know what happened, and put some sort of signs on the door." Steele glanced back and pursed his lips. "I'd rather not... but there will be nobody there until we return." Harley and Jo glanced to each other, then met Steele's gaze again to answer him.

"If that's what you think is best."

"Whatever you say, old man."

* * *

"Since when were he his errand boys?" Jo griped as he pulled a chair up to lock the tops of the sanctuary windows. Harley sighed uncomfortably from his perch by the phone.

"Let's just take it as a compliment. He trusts us enough to handle this." He glanced, not for the first or even the fiftieth time in the past twenty minutes, to the clock, and wrung his hands. "I hope he hasn't woken up again without us."

It seemed that most of the tenants had left when the police had showed up the night before, but Jo and Harley had shooed the rest of them off like fallen leaves. Terrence had been the most difficult, pinning himself to his bench with an open bag of crumbs, looking all around the courtyard in bewilderment. "No Isaac?" Harley had shaken his head.

"He'll be back, but for now, you should find somewhere else to stay."

Terrence reluctantly heaved himself up, still mumbling, "No daddy and son here today. All pigeons." He tilted his gaze up. "Saw some vultures, too. They weren't hungry." He trudged away, still going on about the birds, and Harley anxiously dusted his hands and returned to the others.

Jo had been surprised how many languages in which Harley could piece together the phrases, "We're closed for now, please leave." Still, he probably shouldn't have been. Now, all that remained was making sure there was no way anyone could get in, which had fallen to Jo, since rusted locks that hadn't been turned in five years were more suited to him than Harley. Harley was left with going through the list of all of the employees and volunteer organizations to give them the same news:

"Sana? Yes, Father Steele asked me to call on his behalf. For K-One." Jo glanced from his ladder as Harley anxiously twisted the phone cord around his index finger. "Er, he's asked me to let you know- everyone, really- that the shelter is presently closed, and we won't be reopening until further notice- ah-" Jo winced as Harley paused, because he could faintly hear Sana protesting. "Well, you see, Gage is in the hospital-" Jo heard the squawk from the other end of the line, and Harley had to hold the phone six inches from his ear and raised his voice into the receiver: "Gage was shot last night just outside the door. He's in intensive care. I imagine it'll make the local news cycles soon-" The slap of Sana slamming down her phone echoed around the room, and Harley slowly lowered the receiver, and cleared his throat to address Jo. "She didn't take it well."

"No shit." Nobody had. Anyone who had been there had known Gage, some more personally than others, and Harley had bravely kept a straight face as more than one of the women he called got weepy on the line. Nothing could be done for it. Jo closed the last window lock and clambered down the ladder. "She the last one?"

"She was. I think I'll just feed Haku-" The phone rang at Harley's elbow, and he snatched it faster than Jo could blink. "K-One, Harley speaking."

Jo jumped down and leaned close, expecting Father Steele. Instead, there was anxious, heavy breathing, and finally a whisper. "That boy- is it true?"

Jo and Harley glanced to each other. It sounded like a teenaged boy, and he sounded more than scared out of his mind. Jo could almost envision thin hands wringing one another as he spoke. It just wasn't a teenaged boy either of them knew. Harley shook his head, Jo shrugged, but Harley's eyes widened. "I'm... I'm sorry, who's calling?"

There was a squeak, then a raspy, breathy, "Please, just tell me he's alive. He's my friend, I-" And then, both of them heard a man snarling in the background, and the line went dead. Harley hit the dialer and quickly dialed the non-emergency police line.

"Joel, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to act as mandated reported in Father Steele's place." There was a familiar, hard darkness in Harley's tone, promising menace to the offending party, but contrition in his expression. "Would you kindly change Haku's paper and feed?"

Harley was on the phone for a few minutes, enough for Jo to rinse out and refill Haku's bowls. When he tried to tug the dirty bedding out, though, Haku jumped down and pecked at his hand through the bars, and he yanked his fingers out of the way without getting the tray anywhere. "Stop that!" Haku trilled so low it sounded like a growl, and nipped his finger through the bars. Jo snatched his hand back and swore. "Shit, no wonder someone threw you out!" Haku growled again, and Jo instantly felt guilty. He slumped down to sit on the floor. "You're mad 'cause Harl's upset, right? Or is it me?" Haku fluttered back up to his perch, making angry little huffing noises, and Jo, not sure what else to do, whistled a few bars of the only tune he'd taught Haku. Haku didn't answer him, leaving Jo whistling in the dark and glancing out to where Harley remained on the phone every few seconds. With nothing else to think about, thoughts of Harley were coming back in, and it was making him feel nauseous all over again.

But he didn't have time to be sick. He needed to keep his head here and not wandering in circles around himself, so he could take care of this for Gage. Father Steele had trusted him with that, anyway.

Harley came in, and Jo got up. "He won't let me change his paper."

"Poor dear. He must be agitated because I've been gone. Allow me." Jo noticed that Harley didn't make eye contact with him and hid the wince as he left the room. Harley shut the door behind him, probably to make sure Haku wouldn't fly out, and Jo shuffled to the center of the sanctuary to study what was left. The big room was an echo chamber empty, like the inside of a hollow heart, and being alone in it made Jo's spine tingle.

The phone rang again, and Jo snatched it up. Before he could ask who it was, a familiar voice slid down the line: "Father Steele, are you alright? I just heard the news about your ward-"

"I'm not the Father." It took all of Jo's willpower not to let his voice crack, because he'd recognize Neil Jenning from the bottom of a mineshaft at this point. "He's out. Gone. Not here."

"Oh. Oh dear." Any sympathy that Jo had heard melted off like ice cream in August. "Kindly relay a message for me. I'd like to help. Let him know that Father Jenning is willing to pay his ward's hospital bills and have him transferred to Holy Mountain Medical Center for advanced care he won't get at Mercy, if he will agree to meet with me-"

"Look, man, I'll tell him, but I don't think he'll take it." Jo's head was spinning and dizzy, and he grabbed his forehead and squeezed as if he could hold it together that way. "He ain't gonna talk to you 'til the Pope converts." Jo hung up, and when he looked up, he found Harley observing him, eyebrows knit up with clear concern. Jo knew what he wanted to ask, and answered. "Jenning. The guy on the recording." He shuddered outright. "Fuck, I got a bad feeling. We gotta warn Steele an' the hospital. I'm pretty sure that's the creep that put Gage there in the first place."

* * *

Gage was awake and aware when Jo and Harley made it back to the intensive care unit. The lights in his room were low, but he was sitting up and facing Steele, and as they watched him from outside of the room, they could see he was talking and gesticulating like he always did, but his mouth was slow and his motions retarded from grogginess. Harley knocked on the door, but without turning away from Gage, Steele waved a hand over his shoulder and motioned for them to enter. Jo pushed and held the door, and Steele didn't break eye contact from Gage, and Gage kept talking.

"... he had the sh... shark... repel... ll... lant, an'... he was on... on a ladder..." Gage paused mid-sentence as his eyes locked with Harley's, and a high-pitched gasp escaped him. "Y'guys... came back!"

"'Course we did." Jo crouched next to his bed and gently mussed his hair. "You're our little buddy, y'know?"

Gage tried to speak, but only managed eager keening noises. Steele shushed him, and addressed them without looking away from Gage. "He's still heavily sedated, and the painkillers are increasing the effect. We're waiting to ensure the medicine's fully kicked back in to ease him off of it, but he's doing better. They're forgiving us for the damage to the other room. No permanent damage to him, either, thank Christ."

All of a sudden, Gage seized Steele's arm. "D, Dad, pills? Pills... Dad?"

"You've had them already." Steele carefully peeled Gage's fingers off. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let it happen again."

Gage took it in, nodding, his head bobbing, until his eyelids drooped. "M'sleepy. Tell ya the movie... later?"

"You can sleep." Steele got up from his chair and helped ease Gage into a prone position, and set his arms at his sides. He smoothed his hair back a few times, and Gage was snoring in less than a minute. Jo and Harley looked to one another, and Harley shrank back. Jo grunted, and gathered his wits.

"Padre, I ain't tryin' to scare ya, but that Jenning guy called. He knew 'bout what happened, and he was making you an offer." Jo gestured, but when Steele turned in his chair to face him, he couldn't keep eye contact. "Look, I left somethin' out last night. I didn't think you'd believe me. The guy with Genie Maoh, on that recording- it was him, and I got a feeling he ain't done with you." Steele's eyes flashed, then narrowed into a scowl.

"Wrong as usual. I would've believed you." Jo clamped his lips shut, stunned and angry at once, but Steele ground his teeth together and crossed his arms. "Shit. What the fuck do you want me to do?"

Harley and Jo both answered: "Call the police."

"Take Gage and get out of town before he comes for you again."

Steele scoffed. "Both of you are morons. I don't think the police would believe Jenning was involved with something like this without more than just a recording and your ability to put two and two together. This is saying something, but police detectives have to pretend they're stupider than you so they can convince people much stupider than you that they're right in court. And leaving this town is beyond the pale. I might have shut K-One down for the time being, but I have a responsibility to that place, and..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting back to Gage, and he continued in a mumble. "If it's shut down and blocked off, there are people who will have no more soft places left." He twisted back around to Jo and Harley with his familiar glare. "So, who else in this brain trust has any bright ideas?"

"Well, you got anythin',  _o fearless leader_?" Jo cocked an eyebrow at Steele, and Steele huffed and glanced away. "Yeah, s'what I thought." Harley folded his hands in his lap and looked away as well, and the question hung between them like a mass of cobwebs. When it became clear nobody was saying anything, Jo sighed and squeezed his brow. "We gotta do something. Anything. I mean, shit, God knows what they're gonna do next-"

Before Jo could go on, there were footsteps from the hall, and the nurses were saying something muffled by the door. Steele raised an eyebrow, and moved to the door, with Harley and Jo following. Neil Jenning was hurrying down the hall, dressed fully as a priest from head to toe, and he smiled with what looked like relief when Steele stepped into the hall. "Father Steele! Here you are!" Jo and Harley both stepped in front of Steele, but he shoved past them and strode out to meet him. Jenning extended a hand, but Steele kept his arms folded. "Gabe, I've been trying to messages to you all day-"

"What a coincidence. I've been ignoring them."

Jenning's eyebrows rose, but he laughed it off. Harley frowned, and Jo knew neither of them believed that laugh was real. "Well, of course, you've been busy... the unfortunate boy." Jenning glanced at the window, and Jo took another step forward to obscure his view into Gage's room. Jenning's gaze snapped back to Steele, and his tone became somehow darker and more conspiratorial. "Listen, Gabriel, this is a pauper's hospital. He's lucky to be in a bed here, and soon enough, they'll have him in a room with three other people and the standard of care will bottom out. There's hardly one nurse for every four patients here in the ICU, and worse once he's in recovery. He'll be lucky to be seen twice a day."

"I'll see him."

"But you've a mission to run! Unless-"

"Don't you even start with me." Steele scowled, his glare unwavering. "I know your script. 'You need some help while you're busy. I can go on a leave of absence from the college and take over your duties like I've taken over O'Day's.' And then you have carte blanche to do what you will in my place with all those dependent on me." Steele set his hands on his hips, as Jenning's lips twitched with what seemed like amusement. "Allow me to provide you a clue: I'm not there because I am liked, or because my sermons especially suit the crowd. I'm there because I was put there, and by God, until the Good Lord himself peels my feet from the podium, I will stay!" He put his foot down. "The previous Father Steele entrusted me with his duties. You will not strip me of that."

Jo noticed something in Jenning's expression change at the mention of the previous Father Steele, but before he could speak, the door creaked open. Harley gasped, as Gage stumbled out, still hooked to the IVs and rubbing his eyes. "Dad?" Harley pivoted and gently pushed his shoulders to try to escort him back to bed, but he pointed past Harley. "Why's he here? You're so loud. Make 'im go away, Dad."

Steele set his shoulders back, holding Jenning's gaze. "I remain uninterested in your offers. If you're concerned for Gage and I, then trust in God. He'll provide better than you ever could. For now, you heard the boy." He advanced a step forward, with Jo, Harley, and Gage all lined up behind him. "Get away from me and my son."

Jenning pursed his lips, then put on a gracious little smile. "I can see you're in no mood to talk. You'll have to excuse me." He turned around, and there was an anxious titter from the nurses who had watched their exchange as he retreated. Steele, too, whirled around, and escorted all three back into Gage's room. He got Gage back into bed with some harshly worded but gently executed urging, then motioned for Jo and Harley to follow him out into the hall.

"If Jo's hunch is correct that Jenning is responsible, and frankly, I think it is, then he's going to make his move soon. I..." Steele hesitated, his gaze dropping, and Harley finished his thought:

"You can't do this alone, but you're not alone." Harley turned his shoulder, and the other two unconsciously turned in just the same to form a tight circle. "You saw some of the assailant last night. What can you tell us?"

"He's young, fast, and well-armed. He seems to be able to do parkour, and climb. He's very good at hiding, or obscuring himself."

"Obscure," Harley repeated. "I noticed that he avoided light as much as possible, and even took out one of the lights near you in an effort to hide his motions. He'll probably make his move in the night, when the lights are low, and if he likes hiding, then he might try to fit in around here."

"I didn't see him, but if he's quick and sneaky, then we can't leave Gage alone." Jo tipped his gaze into Gage's room. They were on the second story, but there was still a window to the outside. "Kid's defenseless."

"We won't leave him alone." Harley pulled his green notebook from a side pocket. "I suggest we get a map of the hospital and draw up a plan of action. We're not leaving until we're absolutely certain Gage will be safe here."

Steele nodded, and confirmed aloud. "I'm going to need you." The words came from the heart, and neither Jo nor Harley were going to argue with that.


	20. Walking in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steele reflect and reminisces on his early days with Gage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not in my originally plans for the story, but I realized I had all this wonderful backstory and nowhere else to put it. I had intended this to be a short, sweet chapter showing Gage and Steele's first days together, but then that thing that happens when I try to write something short happens, and... I'm sorry.
> 
> Sorry also for the long delay on this. The original document of Staying Straight, containing everything that had been written including two-thirds of an unfinished chapter, was eaten by a computer malfunction. Fortunately, I had backed up through chapter 18 and chapters 19 and 20 saved in individual documents, but the mostly-complete chapter 21 was destroyed. Chapter 20 should be ready to post soon, and hopefully I'll recover my energy enough for chapter 21 soon.

**19.5: Walking in the Sun**

Steele had checked and checked again, and the window seemed perfectly safe. No bars or handholds on the window, no fire escape, nothing but a flat expanse of stuccoed wall. The only thing he could ask for was a moat. He could walk fifty paces one way down the hall and see Jo sprawled out in one of the waiting rooms, or fifty paces in the other direction and see Harley leafing through a magazine. Well guarded and surrounded, Steele was confident that if nothing else, he'd get a heads-up if there was trouble coming. Not safe, but good enough.

He settled down in the chair by Gage's bed. He was snoring softly, snorting a little, and Steele let his gaze run over him. The doctor assigned to Gage had said that once the initial wounds healed up more, he would schedule reparative surgeries for the muscles around his lungs and on his stomach. For now, Gage just had an ugly surgical wound stapled in the center of his belly and bandages all over his side, and Steele regretted every stitch. Even if Gage grew out of his scars, Steele would always know they had been there, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it.

"Some guardian," he grumbled, and Gage mumbled back unconsciously. Steele raised an eyebrow, trying to decode what he'd said, but it was all marble-mouthed nonsense. He should have been used to that, but usually, Gage's nonsense was perfectly lucid, just quickly spoken and overly exuberant. He sighed and pulled his chair closer, then tangled his fingers into Gage's hair. "You picked a winner."

He'd thought so on his first night. He'd had no idea, but damn if he hadn't thought the kid had picked the worst dumpster to crawl into...

_"Father Jakobi." Jakobi perked at the sound of Gabriel's voice in an instant, because it was rare to hear anything other than a sarcastic grumble out of the petulant teen. He spun to find Gabriel, still smelling of the cigarettes he swore he didn't smoke, with a tiny, skinny boy tangled in his cassock and hair. He heaved a sigh, and pried at the boy's fingers where they gripped him. "He grabbed on and won't let go. I'm not sure where he came from or whose he is, but-"_

_Jakobi leaned in and touched the little boy's face, then pinched his cheek. "He's dehydrated." The boy growled and bit at his fingers, and Jakobi snapped his hand back. "Is he feral?"_

_"I found him in the garbage. I think he was hungry."_

_Jakobi's bushy eyebrows rose, his eyes wide with shock, and Jakobi was not the type to shock. "Gabriel, I think it might be wise to take our small friend here to the hospital."_

_Jakobi brooked no argument, but called Tom over from his mission and simply told him, "The door is open, you have my pager." With that, he piled Gabriel and the scamp into his rusty sedan and sped off through the twilit streets. The boy refused to release his hold on Gabe, so Gabe was forced to wrap the seatbelt around him and let him sit in his lap. As they soared through the city, Gabe was realizing what Jakobi surely already had, as the little boy's energy seemed to gradually die and peter out, and he slumped into a heap against his chest._

_"Hey," he muttered, shoving his shoulder. "Wake up." The boy grumbled and whined, but buried his face in his cassock. Jakobi grunted with distress._

_"He's likely exhausted from whatever ordeal dropped him at our feet. We're going to have him examined, top to bottom." Gabe heard what he hadn't said: he could be deathly ill without either of them knowing, he could have worms or fleas, he could be riddled with pox. He could be starving in front of them. Perhaps Jakobi thought the hospital would check him against a missing persons list, but he was hardly a scrap of human anyway, who could possibly miss him?_

_Jakobi tried to pick the boy up, but he wouldn't unlatch his fingers from Gabe's collar. Gabe opened his cassock to wrap it around him and carried him in, to stunned expressions from the nurses and assistants. Gabe didn't hear what Jakobi told the woman at the desk, but he heard what she said:_

_"We'll give him a complete check. You said he was feral?"_

_Gabe hardly saw the orderlies coming with a stretcher until one of them tried to take the boy from his arms. The boy whined and clutched tighter to him, and he snapped a finger against his head._

_"Let go. You're going for a ride."_

_The boy lifted his head at the sound of his voice and smiled wearily. "Sun... come too?"_

_Gabe twisted his neck around to look the boy right in the face. His stupid smile. The exhaustion in his sallow cheeks and brow. "Act right or I'll smack you one." He set the little boy down on the cart, and pushed him to lay flat so the orderly could wheel him into the belly of the hospital._

_The tiny boy hardly held still to be measured, but with Gabe scolding him and holding him by the hair, the nurse managed to mark his height. The orderly tried to get him to stand on the scale, but he whined when his bare feet touched the cold metal panel. Gabe held him in his arms and stepped onto the scale, then set him down so the doctor could subtract his weight. Even for his height, he was underweight. Someone checked his teeth, and the ones that were still there looked like they belonged to someone older than him._

_"Six year old boy. Forty-two inches, thirty-one pounds." The doctor in charge held his brow. "Christ, we've stumbled onto a bad one."_

_The monkey Gabe had stumbled onto was resolving into the very picture of a neglected boy. Naked, stupid, unsocialized, without even a name to him. The hospital contacted the police to report the abuse, but with no perpetrator there was no crime. There were no Missing Children records that matched him. His picture would be all over the news in a matter of hours, and all Gabe could do was stand back while doctors and nurses paraded through with batteries of tests and vaccinations, and as dawn came, there were soon reporters clamoring at the door._

_Eventually, an orderly with a clipboard broke through the crowd to address him directly. "We need to give him some sort of label, uh..."_

_"Father Steele," he muttered out of habit. He was still working on his ordination, but he was close enough._

_"Father." The orderly eyed him, an eyebrow raised, then held out the clipboard. "Should we just put him down as John Doe, or do you call him anything?"_

_Gabe didn't know why he would care, but hell, everyone deserved a good name. "Gage." The boy perked, his head snapping around as if he knew that word was his already, and groped towards Gabe around the nurse trying to take his blood pressure._

_"Sun! Sun!"_

_Gabe nodded, and added, "Gage Summers."_

_When Jakobi returned (with coffee, natch, Gabe knew there was a reason he thought Jakobi was kind of okay), he looked over the document that was resolving into a certificate of live birth. "Gage, an assayer, one who measures value. It can also refer to an oath or pledge. An interesting choice."_

_Gabe shrugged. "I just liked it."_

_Jakobi chuckled and patted Gabe's shoulder. "Well, then, it's nice to hear about something you like." Gabe silently seethed at Jakobi's touch, but Jakobi recognized it and stepped away. "It seems they're going to observe him for some time. Feed him, load him with fluids, check him for everything under the sun, and hope to God someone comes forward to claim him. Strange as it sounds, though, I have a bit of a claim on the little wild man." Jakobi chuckled and nodded to the hospital bed where Gage had been supplied with a coloring pad and crayons that were now being scraped over the aforementioned pad, as well as a nutrition shake which dangled off of his mouth by the straw. "What do you th-"_

_"I'm staying with him." Gabe folded his arms and anchored his shoulders to the wall behind him. Jakobi chuckled._

_"I'd thought you might say so."_

_With his basic health established, the next step was to try to find any sign of human intelligence in Gage. The first woman, gray hair tucked into a hurried bun, her doctor's coat rumpled and stained with smudges from little fingers, shooed Fathers Steele and Jakobi out, but as soon as the door shut, Gage hugged his knees and buried his face in his arms._

_"Want sun," he whispered._

_The psychologist obliged by opening the blinds. "There you go. Lots of sunshine." Gage squinted at the window, then buried his face again._

_"Sun, sun." He grasped as if holding onto someone's hair, and the psychologist understood._

_She opened the door again. "I'm not sure how far I'll get with him if you're not with him, Father Steele. I think he likes you."_

_"Glorious." Steele trudged in after her, and as soon as she shut the door, Gage looked up and beamed._

_"Sun!"_

_The psychologist then started a pidgin conversation with Gage: "Hello."_

_"Hi!" Gage smiled and waved, as happy as could be._

_"Your name is Gage, right?"_

_This got a shrug. "Unno."_

_"It is," Steele muttered from the chair he'd slouched into. Gage looked right at him. "You are Gage. When someone says Gage, that's you."_

_"Gage, I?" He pointed at his own chest, then at Steele. "You?"_

_"Father Steele."_

_Gage puzzled, his eyebrows knitting and twisting. "Fazz... er... Ffft... tee..." He crossed his arms and pouted. "Sun."_

_The psychologist drew Gage's attention with a tap on the table crossing over his bed. "Gage, can you count?"_

_"What is?" Gage cocked his head._

_The psychologist held up fingers, one by one. "One, two, three." She then took out three candies from a little bag, and counted off of them. "One, two, three." She pushed two candies towards him. "Is this one, two, or three?"_

_Gage grabbed both candies and stuffed them into his mouth, then held up two fingers as he chewed. The psychologist laughed, and Steele groaned even as she beamed at him. "I have a feeling there's a perfectly average little boy in there."_

_Gage had session after session with different specialists, physical therapists checking his muscle development, basic life skills training, but it seemed that outside of being emaciated to the point of stunting his growth, his mind was the least developed and not for lack of intelligence. The psychologist estimated his speaking vocabulary at between fifty and one hundred words on his first day in the hospital. By the third, she estimated that it had exploded to over one thousand, just by listening to lots of people talking. As the lead psychologist explained to Steele, "This reminds me very much of a notorious case in California, where a girl with mental disabilities was kept in complete isolation and often duct-taped to a training toilet or bound to her bed. She would have developed much further than she ever did had she been interacted with."_

_Steele knew what the doctor didn't say: if anyone had cared, at all._

_Gage was lucky he'd stumbled onto someone who was willing to get him care. He was even luckier that his sunshine didn't care about whatever else he had waiting for him at the mission, that he was willing to scare off nosy reporters who wanted to see Chance Harbor's feral boy, that he would and could sit by him for every doctor visit, every psychologist's session, and be there every second he could be there. Jakobi always chuckled at him when he saw him throwing his clothes on and running for the bus before dawn._

_"You don't miss a second, do you?" Jakobi tossed something to Steele, which he fumbled and retrieved. Toast sandwich with chunky peanut butter, still hot in a plastic bag. Jakobi really was pretty alright. "What are you going to do with him once he's properly socialized?"_

_"It's not my business. If they ask me, I'll suggest they turn him over to the Cho house."_

_"The Cho sisters?" The mock disbelief in that slightly lowered Steele's estimate of how "alright" Jakobi was. Steele put on a scowl as Jakobi contemplatively tapped his lip. "Are you sure they're the best choice? There are many children there. It might be difficult for them to give him the attention he needs- like what happened with that one boy, ah, what was his name?"_

_"Like I said. It's not my business what they do with him. I'm only dealing with him because he stops cooperating when I'm not there." Gabe ended the conversation by shoving the sandwich into his mouth and bolting out the door to catch the first bus to the hospital._

_When he wasn't being visited on by doctors or psychologists tracking his every heartbeat and thought, Gage was left alone, and Steele loathed the thought. There was a television in the hospital room, but Gage had no interest in it except when it played music, and Gage didn't seem to have the self-direction for coloring books or looking at picture books unless Steele told him to. Worse, when he got bored, he groused without words and got cranky. The doctors and nurses didn't have enough time or care to do anything with him, though they were perfectly willing to give interviews about the "feral boy" for news reporters. It burned Steele's ears to think of it. He'd clearly spent enough time alone. If nobody else was going to bother, then he might as well give him the attention he needed. He'd help the boy into baggy pajama pants and take him for short walks around the hospital wards and gardens, muttering new words for him to learn as the opportunity came up._

_"Game." He pointed at two men playing checkers in the library. "There are other games. Some are on boards, like that, and there are some you play with cards, and lots of different kinds."_

_"Need two?" Gage pointed at the two men studying the board. Steele nodded._

_"Usually two, and you can sometimes have more. Depends on the game."_

_Gage nodded again, clearly considering, then tugged Steele's arm. "You play with me?"_

_Steele grunted as Gage wrenched on his shoulder- little shit was surprisingly strong after four days on muscle shakes- and pushed him down. "If you act right and promise to follow the rules."_

_"Okay! What's rules?" Gage continued to hug Steele's arm, and Steele grimaced as he pulled on the muscle._

_"Stupid chimp, nobody's ever explained anything to you." Gage whined and squeezed his arm, and Steele couldn't be mad._

_As stupid as he seemed, Steele couldn't say Gage was a complete moron._

_At the same time as the doctors and Steele were unearthing Gage's mind, etching out fossils of intelligence from where they'd been buried under neglect, the psychologist team was trying to dig through his memory for any knowledge of what had happened to him, how he'd come to be there. The work they were doing was revealing an intelligent, curious child, if a bit lacking in focus. He could only sit still for so long, and if pushed too hard, Gage would whine and hold his head until the doctor left. So, they approached it gently. Steele sat in his usual seat by the door, because Gage only opened up under the sun, as the psychologist dealing with Gage this morning set out an array of cards, and explained._

_"This is a family. A family is you and all the people you live with who take care of you." Steele glanced up from the newspaper in his lap as Gage puzzled at the cartoon image of a man, woman, and child. "This is a mom, a dad, and a child. You're a child, so you have a mom and a dad. Do you have a family, Gage?"_

_"Ah." Gage scratched his head, then pointed at Steele._

_"No, no, he found you, remember? He doesn't live with you." The psychologist chuckled and shook his head, and Steele ducked back into his paper. Gage frowned._

_"Fam'bly... fam'bly..." He chewed his lip and drew his knees in, knobby little lumps under the sheet. He pointed down at the picture. "Sun. Sun's fam'bly, like him?"_

_"Do you have a dad?" The psychologist lifted his pad and pen. "Tell me about your dad."_

_"What's dad?"_

_"A dad is the man who lives with you and takes care of you." Gage chewed his index finger, as the psychologist gestured nonchalantly. "You might call him your papa, or your Father-"_

_"Father?" Gage perked up all at once, bouncing on his thighs. "Father?"_

_"You have a father, Gage?" The psychologist's pad and pen were up again, and he smiled eagerly, encouragingly._

_"Yeah!" Gage pointed right at Steele. "Father! Dad! That's Dad!"_

_Steele groaned. The little idiot made things difficult sometimes. It didn't mean he wasn't worth every trying, exhausting second, every waking moment he could give. Maybe he thought he was making up for all the time nobody had given him before, logic be damned._

_In a mere week, Gage grew an inch in height and gained four pounds, and was talking like an average three-year-old rather than a caveman. Steele wasn't sure how he felt when the doctor spelled out his progress to him and Jakobi, but the feeling flowed through him like warm water in his chest. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was something else. Either way, Jakobi nudged his ribs with his elbows a few times._

_"How's that, Gabe? He's a little miracle!"_

_"And it's all thanks to you," The doctor confirmed with a pleasant smile. Gabe wasn't quite sure how to respond, and searched before coming up with anything._

_"It's a positive sign that he's doing well." He sagged a little and pressed his fingers to his eyes. Jakobi gave him a few more nudges._

_"You can say you're happy, you know. Or are you not all there?" He tugged Gabe's hand away from his face. "Boy, you don't look like you've slept a wink in days."_

_"I'm not surprised, honestly. Father Steele's been with him from the time the first bus gets here until the last one leaves." The doctor moved as if to pat Steele on the back, but he took a step back and away, hunching into himself. Jakobi caught him by the shoulder and glanced up into his face._

_"Yes, he shuffles in at midnight and leaves by five. I'm not sure he's done more than wash his face and put water in his hair in a week, and I don't know if he gives himself more than a few hours to sleep." The words were pointed. Steele could practically feel them jabbing into his aching skull. The doctor crossed his arms._

_"Father Steele, you'll hardly be able to help care for Gage if you don't care for yourself. I think it'd do you some good to take an evening at home and get a full night's sleep." Steele grunted, and Jakobi cleared his throat. Annoyed, Steele folded his arms tight and sunk into his heels._

_"Fine, but don't come crying to me when you can't make the idiot monkey string two words together." He spun on his heel and marched for the exit, already feeling weariness biting at his ankles. He strode past Gage's room, and though he heard the boy calling out for him like a gull across the water, he tried to ignore him. He'd show those bastards. One night's sleep, then..._

_It made him stop for a moment and wonder just why he gave so much of a damn. He decided it didn't matter and marched off, hands balled into fists at his sides._

* * *

_Gage didn't think much. Mostly he could only hold vacant, snatches of conscious thought, while the rest of his mind was dominated by passing fancy and a running record of everything that came through his world. Some things stuck, though. The bright yellow of the sun. The way voices sounded when they were happy, sad, angry, anything. The face of the man he now knew was Dad. His Dad._

_Dad's sunshine hair and black clothes. The crisp-smelling gray paper that he held over his face when the doctors were talking to him, the sharp, acrid scent of smoke that hung around his collar. His dry hand touching his back and hand to guide him alone. Dad was his sun, the gravity in his lonesome orbit. All that was left of him now was the gray paper on his favorite chair and the remnants of his scent._

_Why was Dad leaving? Why did the sun go away?_

_Before there was Dad, his only hope was the shaft of yellow sun that shone through the one window he had, because when there was a sun, there was warmth and light, sometimes food, sometimes someone who brought the food to him, stroked his hair, and sobbed lullabies like a bird with broken wings. When the sun went away, things got bad. When the sun went away, the screaming started, and nobody came to him, and he couldn't think._

_"Sun... sun..." He held his head and pulled his knees in. The nurse leaving his dinner tray eyed him curiously, but let him be._

_He could patch together the way things were before he wandered into the sun. A dark room. Silence. Voices through the walls. Cold. His stomach was always empty and aching. Time was empty. Even the past days (seven, seven whole days, because he could count all the way up to nineteen now) had felt more full than all those days that he couldn't count before. Why was the sun going away now? Even in a warm cozy room, with all the food he could want and happy people talking on the screen with moving pictures, none of it meant anything without the sun. The sun was his entire world._

_Why would he leave? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense._

_Gage didn't know what to do when nothing made sense._

_He tried to sleep, but he only dreamed of a world that was never light again. He woke in a panic and searched for the sun, but it wasn't there. He wasn't there._

_Why?_

_Why?_

_Why why why why why why whywhywhywhywhywhywhy_

_WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY_

_WHY_

_WHY_

_WHY_

* * *

_Hands on his shoulders. Gabe woke swinging, only to find Jakobi over him with his collared shirt in hand. "Gabriel, no time, get dressed in the car, we need to go. Gage is having a meltdown."_

_Jakobi sped through town as fast as he could, veering through traffic lights and around every obstacle. It was all Steele could do to hold onto the dashboard and side console as he tried to rouse himself and finish buttoning his shirt. The worst he'd been concerned about before was Gage not cooperating, refusing to talk or hold still. A tantrum, though, that was new. Perhaps shouldn't have been surprised._

_Still, a tantrum wasn't worth driving 50 per hour in a 30 zone or running six red lights and almost running over a woman with a stroller._

_Steele started to hear the ruckus as soon as he got to the doors of the ward where Gage was kept, screaming and roaring like a mad animal. Panic spiked through him, and he rushed past Jakobi and the doctors to Gage's room. The mattress had been overturned, the table and chair upturned so that Steele had to jump over them to get to him. Gage was screaming senselessly and pounding on the walls. Two orderlies were trying to hold his arms back to restrain him, but he kept wrenching his way free and punching and kicking at them. The television remote was lodged in the screen. The wall was cracked. Steele nearly came to a halt, and he finally caught some of what the doctor behind him was saying:_

_"He's given a nurse a black eye. I'm not sure what we can do. We can't even sedate him, he's just too small."_

_"You don't know what to do?!" Steele clenched both fists, then snatched the newspaper off the ground and marched past the orderlies. He could hear what Gage was screaming now:_

_"SUN! SUN! SUN! WANT SUN! WHY?! SUN!"_

_Steele snarled, and smacked Gage over the head with the newspaper. "You goddamned dunce, you can't be alone for one night?!" Gage stopped cold at the sound of his voice and the strike, and whirled around to face Steele. He wound his fists up and pounded them against Steele's chest, arms windmilling, and he hit him as hard as he could. It actually hurt, but Steele seized his ear and yanked. "Calm your stupid ass down! I'm here, get it?" He seized Gage's face, only to see his cheeks swollen and his eyes flush with ugly tears._

_"Sun... left..."_

_"Stupid. I'm nothing like the sun." He shook his head and held Gage still, without realizing he'd stopped flailing and kicking the moment he'd come into Gage's view. "But I'm here now. You're not alone. Even if you can't see me, I'm here, and I'm going to be here. Understand?"_

_Gage collapsed against his chest and sobbed wordlessly, and Steele, not sure what else to do, tentatively let his hand land on Gage's back to hold him there. They stayed like that until two uniformed police officers showed up, handcuffs at the ready._

_Gage didn't seem to mind being cuffed to the chair outside of the head doctor's office by his wrists and ankles, because they were loose enough that he could still rub at his eyes, and he was tired anyway. The two officers on either side of him glanced uncomfortably around, until he nudged the hip of the one with short, dark hair. "Hi."_

_The officer raised an eyebrow at his partner, but hesitantly made eye contact with Gage. "Uh, hey." He put on a smile. Gage matched it._

_"What's yer name?"_

_"I'm Officer Kevin Ren. My buddy over there's Officer Terry Po." He gestured, and the brown-haired officer waved when Gage twisted around to size him up._

_"Uhm... Fisser... Ren? Po?" He puzzled, lower lip scrunching into his teeth, and Ren and Po traded quizzical looks. "Um, Dad's inn-ere, yeah?" He nodded to the door behind them._

_"You mean Father Steele?" Po crouched down and pointed to the door, and Gage nodded. "Yes, he's just talking to the man in charge." He glanced up to Ren, adding in a voice meant only for him, "Bit young for a priest, isn't he?" Ren just shrugged._

_"None of our business."_

_"Man in charge." Gage mouthed the words a few times, then whipped back around to Ren. "Hey, s'yer fav'rite color?"_

_Ren chuckled, clearly a little embarrassed. "Uh, hey, is black a color? Black, I guess."_

_Gage immediately turned to Po. "N'you?"_

_"Aubergine." Po smiled at Gage, and the expression bloomed across his face to light him up completely. He slid his cellphone out of his pocket to show him the color of the phone's background. "That's this color. It's a lovely shade of dark purple, you see?"_

_Gage blinked at it curiously, reached out to touch the screen, then turned his head around to both officers. "Whassa color? The lady in the jacket as'ed me what's my fav'rite, and I said, I nunno, and I as'ed what a color is, an' she didn't say."_

_Ren and Po both turned to one another, before Ren pointedly glowered around. "Are we on camera or something? There's no way this little guy-"_

_"Colors are part of how something looks. Everything has a color." Po met and held Gage's gaze, then pointed at his hospital gown, then to his own pant leg. "This color is white. This color is blue. See how they're different?" Gage's eyes widened in understanding._

_"Oh!" He then started to point around at everything, rattling his chains with each gesture, asking what color that was, if that was also blue, and if that was arbor-jean, and Po caught Ren's eye again._

_"Kev, even if this boy did wreck that room, I don't think I'd hold him responsible. He doesn't understand anything, how is he supposed to know how to react to a brand new world?"_

_Inside the head doctor's office, the same topic was the sole focus: "The feral boy caused over ten-thousand dollars in damages." The head doctor hunched over his desk, his fingers laced under his chin and a salt-and-pepper beard. Jakobi and Steele faced him, standing in front of the chairs they'd been offered. Steele's hands were shaking in tightly coiled fists at his sides, as Jakobi set his bushy eyebrows in a hard line. "It's clear he has some severe psychological issues we didn't account for."_

_Jakobi cleared his throat and held his hands up. "How could anyone have known? Nobody has any idea of this boy's history before he came to us. Surely we could have predicted there would be some frustration-"_

_"But nothing on this level." The head doctor, grimacing, lowered his face behind his folded hands."The only safe recourse we have is putting him in an asylum. If he's going to have explosions the likes of which we saw today-"_

_"You'll doom him to a life no better than he would have had before he found me." Steele hadn't realized he was speaking until his mouth was already moving, so there was no way he could have kept a tremor of rage from his timbre. Jakobi moved to hold his arm, but Steele threw him off and marched towards the head doctor's desk. He'd started it, he might as well finish it. "Your people said he was likely locked alone in a room and left to his own devices, which is why he doesn't function. He was left alone again, and he was terrified. Do you think locking him in a room, alone, unseen, for the rest of his days will help him? You're just covering your own sorry ass!"_

_"Gabriel!" Jakobi lunged for him, but Steele whipped around, baring his teeth._

_"Get on my side or get off my ass, old man! Someone's gotta talk for Gage, and nobody else is doing it!" Steele turned back around. "I'll take responsibility for him. He only got upset because I left. We can't just shut him away and ignore him because he's difficult, and if you're too much of a fucking coward to deal with him, then by God, I will!" The head doctor was taken aback, face flushed, and Steele imagined he was unused to having anyone talking back at him. Steele put his fists on the desk. "If he has psychological issues, we treat them. We teach him and bring him into society just like you would any newborn child, because he's human and alive and deserves that chance, no matter what's wrong with him. I'll lead him if I have to. Don't shut him back in the darkness."_

_The head doctor took it in, pasty cheeks pallid, then cleared his throat. "Asylum wouldn't be permanent, just until-"_

_"Ten seconds in your so-called asylum is ten seconds too many. You're suggesting pushing a boy who just crawled from the river headfirst into the bay." If Steele'd had his gun on him, he would have shot the man. "He. Is. Human. Humans have to take care of each other as best we can. You can't honestly tell me that caging him up would be taking care of him." Steele's upper lip curled into a sneer, and he set his shoulders back. "If you're really that scared of him-"_

_"I assure you I am not afraid. Fine." The head doctor stood tall to meet Steele's gaze. "We'll continue to treat him as we have been, but we can't tolerate any further incidents such as this."_

_"You won't have to." Steele spun on his heel for the door. "He's nothing but a stupid monkey in need of taming." He slammed the door behind him and pinched his forehead, then exhaled._

_He felt lightheaded. In the instant, he couldn't understand his actions, why he'd said what he'd said, why it hit him so hard-_

_"Hi!" Steele was shaken from his confusion when Gage called to him from the chair he was chained to, and saw Officer Ren kneeling in front of him with a pad and a pack of markers, and Officer Po standing behind him. Gage beamed and pointed at the differently-colored circles Ren had drawn. "Ren an' Po was showin' me colors!" He pointed eagerly. "See, 'is's lellow, an' 'at's red, an' at's blue, an' 'is's my favorite." He pointed at an orange-yellow blend, almost gold, and smiled up at Steele. "S' like the sun. N'like your head. I like it."_

_Steele stared down at him, then at the two police officers. "Did he behave for you?"_

_"He's a total sweetie." Ren grinned and got up to a stand. "Hard to believe he can do what he did, but hey." Ren took a key from his belt and started unlatching Gage's handcuffs. "You got a good one here. We'll let the others know to go easy if they get called in for him."_

_"I know, and thank you." Steele sighed, and took the colorful paper from Gage. "I'll take care of him."_

_Ren and Po released Gage, and he jumped right into Steele's arms again, but still beamed back at them. "T'ank you, Fisser Ren, Fisser Po!" He gave them a thumbs-up. "Gonna be friends wid all t'e boys in blue!"_

_No grudge held. Not even an inkling of how close he'd come to the brink. Just happy to meet anyone who treated him well. How lucky was he?_

_Steele let himself and Gage be escorted to a new room, and Steele couldn't help but notice that there was no television and restraints on the bed. Almost like a threat. But Steele set Gage down and planted a hand on his head. "Remember what I said before?" Gage nodded, but Steele reiterated anyway: "I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to be here. You just have to act right and follow the rules, and we'll make it through. So no more fits."_

_Gage didn't answer, still not quite sure how, but he hugged onto Steele again, and Steele didn't feel a chill through him at the contact. The absence was strange, but welcome._

_Steele resolved that even if the sweet boy he was holding was the same feral monster that he'd found before, he would do everything in his power to give Gage the life he didn't have, and what nobody else could offer._

It took years to find the right combination of medicines to keep Gage consistently calm and focused, and even then he remained impetuous and overly energetic. He was also curious about the universe, friends with everyone he met, and as sweet and kind as Steele never was.

"Nobody's going to take that away from you." Steele twisted Gage's hair around his fingers, then released, and he smiled in his sleep. "You've come too far."

In retrospect, he'd mostly ended up following in Gage's pace, hadn't he? They'd grown up into each other. He was Gage's guardian, but Gage gave him a sense of duty. It was even. Gage gained the world outside, and whatever Steele felt for Gage warmed him from the inside.

"We'll get through this." He sat back, feeling the weight of his pistol shift against his thigh in his pocket. "One way or another."

He'd never had the guts to pull the trigger before, but if it came to it, he had a feeling he'd be able to pull it now, and that was going to have to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder: I have a tumblr! I'm Ezra-Blue on tumblr, and I use the tag "#staying straight" for updates on new chapters, writing progress, and extended liner notes, as well as progress on a cute little Staying Straight-related project I'm working on when I'm not writing. I know a few of you nice folks on here follow me on there, and thank you all so much! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	21. Meet Your Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo contemplates his situation, but is interrupted when the Holy Man comes to finish what he started, and he, Harley, and Steele face the madman head-on.

**20: Meet Your Maker**

Visiting hours were long over, but a few words to the nurses about wanting to stay close to his baby bro just in case, accompanied by a warm, winning smile, let Jo stay in one of the waiting rooms late into the evening. He had made himself comfortable sprawled across three chairs, listening to the punctuated rumble of noise from around the building, monitors beeping, oxygen machines hissing, wheels rattling as they rolled up and down the hall, and got used to them. That way, he could listen for anything else.

He, Steele, and Harley had plotted out all of their positions, Steele in Gage's room, and Harley in another waiting room. Harley and Jo were posted near the stairwells and elevators nearest the ICU, so that anyone coming up or down would have to pass one of them, and Steele stayed with Gage on the off-chance that this 'Holy Man' found another way in. They would text one another if they saw anything. It seemed like a solid plan, but it meant Jo was sitting in the waiting room, alone, for hours on end, with nothing but the ambient noise of the hospital settling and a babble from a television set in another room.

The time alone, though, only let Jo's mind wander. It wandered down the hall, to Harley, and Jo realized how much he'd been pushing aside when it came to Harley.

A lot of it came back to confusion. He had a few things solid in his mind, chiefly that Harley was his best friend, the closest friend he'd had. When Harley was distraught, Jo had still wanted to pick him up. When Harley talked, Jo listened. Even if Harley had seemed a little distant, he was more than likely put-out with Jo for vanishing for two days. When he'd come in to help Gage, though, after that, he'd still looked at Jo like Gage looked at double meat-lover's pizza. It wasn't  _want_ , not the way he knew it in bars, parking lots, back alleys and bedrooms, it was... it was more like the way Gage looked at Steele. Like he was something special. Like he would just tear down the sky, wrap it around the moon, and give it all to him with a bow on top if he could.

Maybe Harley's eyes were just too expressive, because his mouth, for all its pretty words and flowery phrases, always managed to wind right around what he was really trying to say. Maybe Jo wasn't as good at reading his face as he was his body. His body talked. When they were both sitting on Jo's couch, Jo watching a movie, Harley listening and scribbling away in his little notebook, Harley's shoulders were always relaxed away from his ears, his legs would curl up next to him and bend towards Jo. He'd sometimes glance over the edge of his page to Jo, and Jo would catch him, hold his gaze, and he'd smile. One of those natural smiles, the special warm smiles that Jo only saw when Harley was really happy. That smile always made Jo feel warm, it always made him smile back. When they were alone, Harley was a different person, and Jo really liked that person.

Besides that, Harley was...

Harley was so smart. Harley seemed to always have something to say, some pearl of wisdom, some light to shine on a path Jo had never considered. Jo was sure he'd never thought about things like he had when Harley talked about them. Harley could do things Jo could never even fathom, and that was unbelievably cool. Harley could keep a cool head, even when a situation was going ass-over-teakettle. (He didn't know anyone else who would have kept a straight face when strapping a bomb to himself.) When Jo got antsy, Harley smoothed things over as easily as someone pet a cat. Harley always had a kind word, a sweet smile, even when he meant neither, but they were always genuine for Jo.

Harley was... wonderful.

He seemed to think Jo was wonderful, and fuck if Jo got why.

But then it came to that night, that one twisted night, and Jo still couldn't wrap his brain around that. See, Jo didn't mind doing butt stuff. He'd met a few girls that were way into that, and the way they reacted during the act made his boner fucking jump. He got that some guys liked butt stuff too. Supposedly, it could actually feel kinda good to put a finger up in there when you were jerking it, but Jo had never tried it. He didn't care that guys were gay. He'd been hit on by dudes a few times, and shit, some of them had been outright charming and sweet, and all sincere in their expressed desire to make him feel real good. He'd usually give them about the same answer:

"You're nice and all, but I'm no fag."

His skin crawled when they touched him, gentle brushes across his back, fingers sneaking across his shoulder, and something that felt like fear crept up in his stomach like ice water when they made eye contact. He didn't care that the guys he turned down got annoyed with him, at least they left him alone after that. It wasn't like it was with Harley. At least, not like how it started with Harley.

Jo knew he was as straight as a line, straight as an arrow, straight as a ruler, but then Harley had kissed him and instead of ice water, heat had bloomed in his chest, red hot roses all through his lungs and heart, and good God, all the pretty words Harley had said with that soft mouth and in the warmth in his eyes sounded so, so true.

 _I want you. I need you. I won't abandon you._   _I..._

But as much as Jo wanted it to be, it couldn't be. No, it just couldn't be.

Jo could admit to himself that being with Harley, giving Harley pleasure, was a really good feeling. The way he'd come undone, the pure, unfettered joy and contentment that even Harley couldn't mask, knowing Jo had done that for him made him so goddamn proud that he forgot he was fucking his best friend.

He had a box of condoms in the bathroom, usually two in his wallet. He never ran out. He could have rubbered up and done what Harley had offered him, but every time he thought about sealing the deal, that ice water feeling came back in, and hell, he couldn't do it.

When people wanted him, wanted sex from him, he felt...

He couldn't even describe it. It just felt wrong. Shit, he liked sex and all, but the demand made him queasy. And at the bottom of all that, Harley was still a guy. Harley was a guy, and he was wonderful, and perfect, and deserved so much better, so why had he settled for Jo?

It was birthday sex. No. It was pity sex.

Jo had no delusions that you could just fuck your friend, even a pity fuck, and keep going like you had, so he wasn't stupid enough to want that, but what did he want, then? That was where he was caught. He knew he wanted Harley to stick around, but that couldn't be it, could it? Jo didn't know if he could give him more.

He wanted to, but...

Jo couldn't go there. Not right now.

He checked his phone. No new messages. Hopefully Harley was at least enjoying the magazines in the other waiting room. Maybe it would just be a quiet night. He flipped his messages up to shoot Harley a check in, but realized he still had a draft to Harley.

_"I don't hate you."_

Oh, shit, he'd never actually sent it. His thumb hovered over the screen for a few seconds, then tapped Send, because hell, Harley probably needed to hear that, and he stuffed his phone back into his pocket to wait for any sort of response. Thirty agonizing seconds later, his phone buzzed back, and he snatched it back out to see the delivery had failed. He had no bars here. Zero reception.

"Shit!" Jo jumped up to his feet and barreled down the hall to where Harley waited. Harley put his magazine down and rose to his feet as he entered. "Dude, Harl, we're in a dead zone. Hospitals are shit for reception. I can't text, and I'm betting you've got the same problem. Our plan's no good if we can't communicate."

Harley opened his mouth, then checked his phone. His eyebrows knit up. "Oh."

The two of them hurried to Gage's room, but just as they got into the ICU ward, the low lights went down and the emergency lights came on. The hospital came to life on the upper levels as the doctors and nurses on duties hurried into action to make sure the power jump hadn't affected anyone, and Steele rushed out into the hall as they reached the door. "Get back to your posts!"

"We can't. It wouldn't be worth puppy piss if we did!"

"Neither of us have cell phone reception. We wouldn't be able to warn you. We need another plan."

Steele's eyes and brow hardened, teeth gritted, and he flung an arm at both of them. "There's no time for another plan! Find him! He might talk big, but he's just an overgrown child who thinks he's God! I don't care what you have to do, keep him out of here!"

"But Father-" Harley started, but Steele pulled out his pistol.

"I don't want to use this, but I will if I must." He pocketed it, and pointed. "Incapacitate him, or I will."

Harley swallowed, his gaze snapping behind Steele for a second, then back to him with a nod. "We'll search the whole of the hospital. He could be anywhere, but we'll stop him, somehow."

Harley and Jo spread out around the floor, but saw only doctors, nurses, and orderlies checking the patients. They met on the opposite side of the square at the stairwell, Harley waiting for Jo at the bottom of the steps as he arrived:

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

They bolted up the steps in tandem. Jo's every footstep pounded in his ears, but Harley, even running at full tilt in the tight, echoing stairwell, was remarkably silent but for his ever-heavier breathing. Whatever had caused that scar on his belly must have done something to his lungs. Jo got to the fourth floor, leaving Harley out of breath in his dust as he reached the third. He called down from the landing: "Search there, meet me up here!" He pushed out into the fourth floor, and found a massive hustle and bustle, gurneys and carts flying. He dodged around nurses and orderlies, doing his best not to look at the grimy, broken bodies, but heard a few snatches of conversation.

"A Med-Evac, now?"

"There was a big shootout down at the docks. Seems like a knife fight that escalated. Eight in critical condition."

The docks. That was gang territory, and that was where the Holy Men liked to work. Jo flattened to the wall and scanned the chaos. The hall was crowded as the Med-Evac team came down from the roof, but Jo glimpsed a man in an ill-fitting doctor's coat that looked far too young to be a doctor. He wove through the crowd towards him and accosted him, seizing his arm, and the young man turned around. Jo only caught a glimpse of a huge, nasty scar and an unnervingly bright smile, before he got cold-cocked up the chin with the butt of a gun.

Harley heard gunshots like a drumroll from above him, harmonized with screams and cries, and hurried towards the stairs. He leaped up the stairs two at a time, vaulting up the banister and skittering to catch his footing on the landing, and pushed out into the halls just to find the screaming was only louder, and the halls were thick with human panic, people running and shouting to get away from the source of the noise. A man just down the hall had a gun pointed at the ceiling, and a familiar head of red hair laid out at his feet, his lanky limbs askew and akimbo and a bruise on his jaw. Something flared in Harley, and as the gunman pointed the assault rifle in his hand down at Jo, he lunged in and seized the barrel. The gunman looked up, eyes curious and wide, then put on a smirk and yanked the gun back. Harley recovered and grabbed at the gun again with both hands to seize the barrel and shaft. Then, he did the only thing he could think to do:

"Listen to me!" He raised his voice as loud as he could, and Jo blinked his eyes open at his feet. Harley grunted, and mustered his strength to shove the gunman back just to deliberately step over him. "Security will be here soon, as soon as they hear you!"

Jo grimaced and blinked, then rolled up to his feet. "Y-yeah!" He raised his voice as loud as he could, and cupped his hands. "Security! Se-cu-ri-ty!" He grinned back at Harley through his tug of war with the gunman. "We gotcha now!" The gunman grunted and struggled with Harley, pushing him a step back, but when Jo took a step in to help, Harley shook his head.

"Stay back, keep shouting!"

"Yeah." Jo looked back around at the hallways, still crowded in the panic, and shouted again. "Hey, he's over here! We got 'im!"

The gunman growled like an angry rabbit, and yanked the gun out from under Harley's grip and kicked him in the thigh. "You got nothing, tall man!" He shot out the emergency lights nearest them, just as the security guards came into view. Jo and Harley both shielded their eyes from the broken glass crashing down onto them, and when they could look again, he was gone. Instead, they just heard his laughter echoing from the steps. "You idiots won't be forgiven!"

"Jo." Harley tugged his hand and pushed something into it, and Jo realized one of the security guards was patting at his holster and yes, Jo suddenly had a baton. "Split up. Take this stairwell, I'll take the other and meet you at you-know-where." Harley swung a pair of ziptie handcuffs around his fingers, as if to make sure Jo knew he had them, then stuffed them into his back pocket and turned tail, careening around the corner.

"Hell." Jo didn't think twice. Harley, clever, quick, brilliant man he was, had something in mind, and Jo couldn't think of anything better. He hopped back down the stairs, vaulting down the banister back to the second floor, and circled back around through the ward. He had a quick glimmer of hope that maybe the gunman was still searching the third floor, which was crushed when something Harley had probably accounted for hit him: if the gunman was working for Jenning, Jenning would probably have drawn the guy a map of the exact door Gage had tottered out of to shoo him off. Of course, Harley had known. He was running to the stairwell closer to his room to get them out of the hospital.

Sure enough, when Jo skidded back into Gage's room, the bags were all draining their viscous fluids onto the floor behind the bed, the heart monitor was unplugged, and the gunman was tearing off the bedding to find only a stuffed pillow where Gage was supposed to be. The gunman humphed, and spun around to smirk at Jo. "Tricksy tricksy, but you can't hide from God." He cocked his gun. "And here you are. Alone again, tall man?" Jo froze, like a rabbit in a hunter's sights, staring down the barrel, the baton quaking in his grip. "Such a noble sinner, prostrating so easily, but I doubt you're worth penance." Jo ducked right as he pulled the trigger, and rolled in to knock the gunman's legs out from under him. The gunman nimbly nipped around him, and kicked Jo in the chest, but Jo sprang up to lift an elbow into his chin.

He'd thought he was slick, picking that trick up from Gage. Just look for somewhere to hurt him, and hurt him. He hadn't expected the guy to catch him by the forearm and flip him over his shoulder into the machines. The baton in his hand got knocked out from the shock of the impact, and landed, worthless a meter from his fingers. Jo went down in a tangle of vinyl tubes and metal poles, and the gunman stomped on his gut as he went down for good measure. When Jo could open his eyes again, it was right into the black void of the gunman's pistol, with the gunman sitting on his stomach.

"Won't you be a good boy and tell me where bad daddy priest and the little boy have gotten off to?" His smirk was as even and calm as Harley's sweet little smile ever was, as innocent and childlike, but there was victory in him. Jo might not have been able to land a hit, but he could crush that.

"Hell if I know."

The gunman cocked the hammer back- the damned thing was already primed, crazy fucker probably just liked the noise- and put it to Jo's nose. "You can't lie to me, tall man." Jo sealed his lips, focused on the gunman's thin finger resting, trembling, on the trigger. Then, suddenly, there was a CRACK, and the gunman fired a shot into the floor next to Jo's head. Jo flinched, his heart skipping a beat or ten and Jo didn't feel it start again. The gunman put the gun, hot now, into Jo's forehead again. "Tell me!"

"No, seriously. Haven't the foggiest." Jo coughed from the pressure on his lungs. Shit, he'd kill for one last cigarette. If he was going to die, he might as well have been happy.

For some reason, all he could think of was how much he'd love for Harley to just bust in and save his skin again.

The gunman trained the pistol on his forehead, the cold metal forming a ring right in the center. Jo cringed, and spat out, "They've probably gotten to the parking lot by now. Shit, I hope they're long fucking gone." The gunman's fist trembled again, and Jo squeezed his eyes shut.

That thought of Harley saving him turned into a split second of regret: that maybe his last memory of him could have been that good night kiss he never got. How if he could just see him one last time _..._

The seconds lasted an eternity, until the gunman suddenly shrieked indignantly, stomped his feet, and bolted up and out of the room. Jo could finally exhale, and his stomach ached. He was alive, and something in him never wanted to see any of the others again.

"Please, just be gone... Far, far away..."

* * *

The holes in Gage's skin were holding closed with Harley's rapid patch job, and keeping him swaddled tight in a spare blanket was helping a lot. Steele curled him tighter to his chest as he hunkered down on the floor against the front pew in the hospital chapel, his shoes and Gage's bare toes scratching against the cheap carpet and his shoulder blades pressed against the bench. Gage's breathing was too loud, labored without the aid of the oxygen pump, and he hugged his arms around Steele's neck incrementally tighter as he roused more and more. The darkness, cast in the dreadful pall of the crimson emergency lights, tightened each second with anxiety and wound its way into Steele's joints with tension to leave panic simmering under his skin. The only relief was the faint light from the stained glass windows, senseless patterns of greens and blues not entirely swallowed by the red panic, and Gage seemed to be locking onto them as well.

"S'it Sunday, Dad?" Steele shushed him. "But, Dad, if it's Sunday..." He started to hum into Steele's chest. Steele shook his head and clenched Gage tighter to keep from throttling him.

"Be quiet, stupid."

"But... Dad... I like when you..." Gage whimpered, scratching at Steele's collar, then sighed and let his hands fall away. Steele felt surprise like a knife between his ribs.

"Only if you'll promise to be quiet." He started to croon  _Gloria in Excelsis Deo_ , low and gentle, into Gage's ears. Gage made a strangled but happy noise, settling into Steele's arms to listen, and in the back of his mind, Steele wondered how he'd never realized Gage enjoyed listening to him sing mass.

Maybe he'd always known. Maybe he'd never wanted to acknowledge it.

Gage seemed to settle completely into a twitchy, shallow sleep after just a few minutes, and Steele did his best to listen for footsteps and gunfire over the thudding of his heartbeat and his own voice. Every second, he anticipated Harley's return, though he'd never hear his approach, a promise of relief he was sure would never come, but God, he could hope with the tiniest, most fragile hope there was.

Hope was too easily strangled in its swaddling. Steele heard his hymn echoed from behind him, and knew that reedy timbre at a blink. The gunman was striding down the center aisle like a proud and particularly sassy bride, pistols in both hands and pointed heavenward, grinning gracelessly as he sang along. He stopped three pews from the front, and Steele heard the pistols cock as the last strains of Amen echoed out. "You should have known you couldn't hide. I am the Holy Man. You can't stand against God."

Again with this Holy Man nonsense. Steele rose up, Gage still cradled in his arms, and stared the man down. Then, he let his mouth fall open to unleash further song.  _"Kyrie Eleison. Kyrie Eleison."_

The gunman joined in just the same, not in tune but on-key, then laughed as Steele crooned the rest of the cantata and swayed Gage in his arms as if he were still very small. "There's no mercy for you. Close your eyes and hold your breath, and this won't hurt. Benevolent as I am, I'll even let you choose which of you two die first."

 _"Veni, Sancte Spiritus, et emitte caelitus lucis tuae radium..."_ He sang louder now, his voice echoing to the rafters, and even the gunman fell silent to listen. Like any child might. He must have been well trained by someone to listen when someone else was praying, like any good little Catholic might, and Steele had a very good idea just whom. Gage smiled from his arms, though, and Steele, ever attuned to that raspy little whisper, heard him.

"This one's good."

Steele nodded, and raised his volume a little louder.  _"In labore requies, in aestu temperies, in fletu solatium..."_  He'd liked this one, too, when he was young, because Connor's voice was a delight to his very soul, and flooded him with light more than any sacred spirit could.

The gunman had listened, but spoke again as he trailed off. "Do you pray to me? I'm not the type to answer prayers."

"I never prayed to have answers." Steele began again, launching into  _Confiteor_  loud enough to fill the room and echo into the hall.  _"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti..."_

"You can't confess. You've wronged me!" The gunman waved one pistol. "Stop praying! You're getting annoying!"

Steele shook his head, because he wasn't praying to him, not to God, not to anybody. If his sin was of defiance, then so be it. He'd happily burn for that. He was singing for Gage.

 _"Mea culpa, mea culpa."_  He raised his volume.  _"Mea maxima culpa."_

Gage, gazing up at him, rapt through the haze of sedation and exhaustion, as if he were something special. Sun, moon and stars. If there was no God, or only a cruel one that taketh and taketh, at least something in this forsaken universe had given him Gage, and Gage, for whatever stupid reason, adored him.

"I'll put the boy out of his misery first, if you'd like." The gunman was quickly running out of patience, as consumed with the song as he was. "He won't have to watch you die. Answer me! I am your God now, priest, I demand an answer!"

 _"Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison._ I have no answers for you." Steele made eye contact with the gunman for a split second, then chanted, at the top of his lungs.  _"Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!"_  His voice still echoed, and he took a step back. "You will give me nothing and receive nothing. There are no Gods here. There are no Holy Men, either, least of all you."

The gunman nearly retorted, until there was an arm wrapped around his neck and then a heel in the back of his knee. Harley had slipped up behind him under the cover of Steele's confessional, and now, Harley had him stumbling. "Imagine," Harley mused as he wrestled with the gunman again, working one hand forward. "Caught flat-footed by a sinner." The gunman tried and failed to work his hand around, but managed to squeeze off four rounds into the rafters, the walls, the ceiling, but nowhere near his targets. He pinched the gunman's inner elbow, and the gunman dropped the pistol when his hand locked, but as he tried to spin around to fire the other one at him, Harley grabbed his wrist and twisted it up towards the ceiling. His hand spasmed, and the other pistol fell to the ground. He tried to go for a knife with his free hand, but Steele had set Gage down on a pew and rushed in with his prayer shawl in his hand, and before he could get to his holster, Steele looped the shawl around his wrist and yanked it back. The gunman screeched, wriggling as Harley held one arm fast towards the ceiling, locked the joint at the shoulder and twisted for good measure, then worked it down to meet his other hand behind his back. Steele wound his shawl tight around his wrists, effectively immobilizing him all the way up to the shoulder, and though the gunman thrashed and shrieked, between Steele and Harley, he wasn't getting loose. He lifted his head and screamed fit to bring the chapel down around him, but all Steele heard was Gage's weak applause.

"You're the best, Dad."

Steele nodded, and Harley could have sworn he caught him smiling.

* * *

Jo staggered in behind the police, milling around the bullet-riddled chapel and taking pictures of the scene, to find Harley and Steele talking to a detective who looked far too young to have white hair but did, and stumbled out of the way just as two police hauled the gunman, shackled and screaming, out.

"You can't! You can't do this to me!" He kicked and writhed against his bonds, only to be grappled again by the peeved cops. "I am the Holy Man! I am the Holy Man!"

"Christ, we get it," Jo groaned, holding his head and staggering to Steele's side. "The hell did I miss?" Harley noticed him, and gasped.

"Oh, Joel!" He quickly ushered Jo to the pew and took some first aid supplies from a kit left on the floor nearby. Jo grimaced as Harley started to patch him up, and spoke a little louder.

"Who the hell was that, anyway?"

Steele scoffed and gave Jo a hard look. "He keeps screaming it, dumbass." He turned back to the detective. "That all?" The detective nodded and departed without another word. Steele faced Jo and Harley, as Harley examined Jo's scrapes and bruises. "They didn't find an ID on him, and every time they tried to get a name, he wouldn't answer. I'm starting to wonder if the little creep had a name at all."

"Jo, you've ripped your stitches," Harley whispered, despondent, and Jo set his jaw firm when he saw him digging out the iodine.

"That fuckass beat the shit out of me twice." He shrugged Harley off, and lifted his chin just enough to study his face from under his slumped shoulders. Harley's expression was unreadable, mixed relief, concern, and lots more Jo just couldn't suss out. He extended a hand to touch the tender bruise on Jo's chin, then let his hand rest on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, I wish I'd helped-"

"It's fine, it's fine." Jo brushed Harley's hand away again, and forced a faint, muscled-out smile. "We all survived, right?" Harley didn't respond, instead studying Jo's face with his eyebrows knit up, and Jo's heart sank. "Wait, where's the kid?"

"Gage." Harley's mouth moved automatically, his tone strange. Jo had heard Harley depressed, happy, or when he was masking his emotions, but there was something robotic in him now. "He had to be put back on machines, and there'll be a security guard outside of his room now." Harley abruptly shut the first aid kit. "I suppose I should check on him." He hurried out, face low, and Jo knew there was something wrong.

Nothing he could fix. He'd been useless at fixing everything, anything else, hadn't he?

He waited for Steele to scold him, but only received an icy glower and an apprising stare. Finally, Steele scoffed and broke the silence. "I need a smoke. You look like you need one too."

"I need a lot of stuff, man," Jo admitted. "Right now, I ain't sure that's one of 'em. 'M just gonna... y'know..." He trailed off, his voice echoing, his thoughts echoing in his head, as Steele waited, staring, as he obviously didn't know. Finally, Jo sighed and threw his hands up in surrender. "I'll be back." He trudged out for the entrance, ignoring Steele's baleful expression at his back. He was just too stuck in his own head, and that was never a good idea.

Still, Harley thought there was more going on in his head than he thought, and for once, he could see why. He'd been useless dealing with the gunman. He was useless at everything else. Not smart enough, not strong enough, not good enough, never good enough. Even so, he had picked up on something that none of the others had, and maybe it would give him a chance to do something the others couldn't: warn them in advance.

Out in the four-in-the-morning air, smothering and oppressive with smog, steam, and humidity from an oncoming storm, Jo yanked his phone out. He saw that his message to Harley had failed, but Jo ignored it and scrolled into his contacts. Without another second's hesitation, he dialed, because he knew the guy on the other end didn't keep sane hours.

He didn't keep sane at all.

"Yo, Benny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick translation note! The songs Steele is referred to as singing are all Latin hymns, and the phrases he is quoting translate as follows:
> 
> "Gloria in excelsis deo" - "Glory to God on high"
> 
> "Kyrie eleison" - "Lord have mercy"
> 
> "Veni, Sancte Spiritus, et emitte caelitus lucis tuae radium" - "Come forth, Holy Spirit, send forth the Heavenly radiance of your light"
> 
> "In labore requies, in aestu temperies, in fletu solatium" - "In labor, rest, in heat, temperance, in tears, solace"
> 
> "Confiteor Deo omnipotenti" - "I confess to almighty God"
> 
> "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa" - "My fault, My greatest fault" (That's the easiest/most direct way of translating it, but it can also be interpreted as "I am to blame, I am to blame to the greatest degree.")
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	22. Use It, Lose It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley and Jo each make a heavy decision.

**Staying Straight**

**21: Use It, Lose It**

Gage had two more surgeries in the wake of the gunman's arrest to help to mend his muscles, and he remained under heavy sedation in their wake. The hospital posted a security guard outside of his door for two days after the incident, and Father Steele, Harley, and Jo were the only ones allowed in. After those two days, Gage was removed from sedation and weaned down to mere painkillers on top of his normal medication, and he truly woke for the first time with all the sharp alacrity of a knife to the gut.

His hand snapped out to seize Father Steele's wrist under his newspaper, and Steele folded the paper down to look at his wide-eyed, trembling charge. "Tell me I didn't hurt 'em." Gage swallowed, his gaze dropping to his legs and the plastic ID band around his wrist. "Tell me I didn't..." He swallowed again, straining at his own trembling jaw, and Steele narrowed his eyes.

"Idiot, if you really hurt them, Jo wouldn't keep bringing stacks of terrible fucking movies, and Harley wouldn't be getting you a milkshake right now."

Once Gage had regained complete lucidity, he had a steady stream of visitors through visiting hours, in twos and threes and sometimes lining up in the lobby. Outside of his usual attendants, Steele on his right, and Harley at the foot of his bed, it seemed anyone who knew Gage even in passing wanted to see for themselves that he had survived.

Father Shalimar and Deacon Hassan were two of the first through the door, and while Hassan eagerly greeted Gage and dumped out a plastic bag full of presents- an alpaca plush to keep him company, a quilt sent by the women in their shelter, a stack of comic books- Shalimar hauled Steele into the hall by his ear, and Harley only caught, "The first I hear of this is from your friend two days later, how dare..." before dragging him off to chew his hide for twenty minutes. He returned, with Steele shuffling a step behind, and sat down to take Gage's hand.

"You're very brave." He smiled with ease, and patted his hand. "Let's not do this again, though. You won't like Father Steele's funeral mass if he's giving it for you." Gage giggled, and Shalimar gave his hand a pat. "How are you feeling? I'd love to hear about all the friends you've made here."

More of Gage's friends came for him, all dressed in blue. Every cop in the quarter knew Gage as the boy who called them from K-One, who answered the door and the phone, who waved to them at crosswalks and at their squad cars. He knew all of them by first and last name, by their beat, and often by their favorite food or color. Harley recognized Officers Ren and Po, who came together, and he was certain at least forty percent of the local officers made their way to Gage's bedside. Those who didn't sent their wishes with the white-haired detective Harley remembered seeing talking to Steele after the arrest, in the form of a thick envelope and a whispered update that even Harley could hear in the too-quiet hall:

"We've gotten nothing useful out of the man we arrested. He had no legal identification on him. We found his apartment, but it was a mess. Like someone was keeping a pet teenager and never cleaned the cage. We did find some identifying information there, but it's just a photocopied birth certificate for an infant who was reported missing two days after his birth, lost by his heroin-addict mother and never found. It's possible we're solving a long-since-closed missing person case." Detective June had smiled wryly at this and turned his shoulders into the alcove. Steele leaned closer, allowing June to keep his voice low even. "We're hoping we can unscramble his brain enough to find out what he hoped to accomplish, but all he's able to say is that the angel told him to do it. You said you'd never seen this person before?"

"There's a faint possibility he's someone I met in seminary some ten years ago, but I recall nothing specific."

June had narrowed his eyes, but said no more of it but to pat Steele's shoulder. "Watch yourself, Gabriel. There are those who didn't like what your father did, and-"

"I have had no involvement in my predecessor's activism. Don't use that as an excuse, just make sure that man never hurts anyone else." Steele's fingers twitched at his side. Harley could recognize his cigarette cravings anywhere. "Any progress on finding O'Day's killer?"

"Couldn't even tell you if there was." June heaved a sigh and ran his pale, thin fingers back through his thin, fair hair. "Contact me if you can think of anything, on either account." Steele balled his hand into a fist as June turned on his heel and left, and Harley dodged back into Gage's room to give him the privacy he likely needed to will the color from his face.

Other priests came, some escorting Steele's usual tenants in small groups, and some just because they knew Gage and Steele. Gage made happy, chipper conversation with everyone who came by as if there weren't an oxygen tube to his nose and needles in his arm. Steele was his usual charming self for all of their visitors, until Harley had to intervene in some cases and usher nosy guests into other conversations or to the door. There was always at least a little noise, and Harley could tell when Steele was getting tetchy and sore of it, but he never complained once.

Not even at their loudest visitor.

Four days after Gage was taken off of sedation, he was startled from a doze by the sounds of two women shouting at one another the hall. Harley dropped his book, and Steele moved for the door just as someone else burst in. Sana, her face blotchy, tears streaking her cheeks, shoved Steele aside and seized the end of Gage's bed, shouting in Vietnamese. An older woman who looked very much like Sana tottered in a few steps behind her, crying out after Sana in words Harley couldn't translate fast enough. Sana screeched something at her, then whipped back around to Gage with an accusing finger out. A few more tears rolled down her cheeks, her tirade stormed on, and Gage shook off his drowsiness enough to reach out to her.

"S-Sana? What's wrong? Please don't cry, everything's okay-"

Sana cut him off with a few more shouts, and whatever she was saying, it was despondent, miserable, and angry all at once. She marched a few steps closer, her hands balled down at her sides, and Gage tried to touch her face. "It's okay, see, I'm fine. Ya don't have ta-"

Sana grabbed his cheeks and pressed her lips to his, all his words smothered into a desperate gasp. She breathed hard, too hard, her jaw moving clumsily, eyes squeezed shut tight, as Gage, stared, wide-eyed at her face. Steele moved towards her, eyebrows furrowed deep, but she let go and backed off, panting for breath. She whispered something in tear-garbled Vietnamese, then spun on her heel and ran off. Sana's mother called after her, then whirled back on her heel to bow to Steele a few times, beseeching for forgiveness (based on her tone, at least), before turning around again and chasing after Sana, shouting her name. Gage put his hand over his mouth, cheeks and whole face ruddy and ruby with embarrassment, as Steele turned an exasperated look to Harley.

"You got about half of that, I'm certain, what the hell?"

Harley tried to think back everything Sana had spit out, but it had all come past his ears like machine-gun fire, and he finally shrugged, his smile falling into place. "It seems our young friend has had his first kiss."

After visitor's hours were over, though, Steele had acquired special permission to stay with Gage for himself, Harley, and Jo. It was in these hours, though, that around the hum and thrum of activity and people coming through, that Steele realized just how little he'd actually seen of Jo.

Hell, it wasn't like he was hard to miss. There weren't nearly enough long red hairs shed on the sheet and guest chair. Steele could only think of seeing- actually laying eyes on the man, not just a new stack of DVDs- Jo passing through once, and he was saying goodbye to Gage and promising to be back soon, then leaving just as Harley came in without making eye contact.

Steele had grown up close to the bay. He knew when something smelled rotten.

Harley only left Gage's side to fetch fresh books for the both of them, for meals, or when the doctor requested privacy to examine Gage's surgical scars. Steele caught him in the hall as the doctor pulled the curtain around and yanked him into an empty alcove.

"Harley." He spoke heavily, and Steele felt a tremor run through Harley at the impact in his own name. He composed himself, and tried to sound a little more nonchalant. "Your roommate's been scarce. Where's he been?"

"I suppose he hasn't been here, not nearly as much as we." Harley's gaze dodged Steele's, down and away. "I'm not sure where he's been. I imagine he's been looking for work or the like."

"Hm." Steele narrowed his eyes in thought. It seemed like too convenient of an answer. "Licking his wounds, more likely." He made a face (he could feel himself making a face), and reluctantly met Harley's eyes again. "Tell me what happened."

"I'm not certain what you mean. If you'll excuse me-" Harley moved to circle Steele, but Steele pinned his shoulder with his other hand.

"I will not. Something happened. I know the two of you did something stupid." Steele nearly bit his own tongue at the implications. "Something ill-advised. Something you didn't think through. And I can tell it's affecting you."

"Father, I assure you that I can handle my personal life." Harley folded his arms and turned his head, then brushed at Steele's palm where it pinned him. Steele was unmoved.

"You can bullshit all you like, but it doesn't work on me."

"Ahaha." Steele's stomach wound itself into a knot, because that laugh wasn't real, was never real, was only used because something was so stupid to Harley it was almost funny. "Even if that is the case, I wouldn't burden you with the boring drama of my personal life. Not now." Harley's fingers pressed in where he clamped his own elbows.

"Be that as it may, you have a therapist. Have you seen your therapist?" The sudden increase in tightness of Harley's body language answered that question. "Why the hell not?"

Harley didn't answer immediately, and Steele wished to God he could bring himself to draw his pistol on him. As it stood, Steele had resolved not to do that, and settled for tightening his hand around Harley's shoulder, and this wrenched an answer from him. "Without my health insurance, it's beyond my budget."

Steele clenched his jaw and Harley's arm. He heard Harley mewl with discomfort and ignored it. "You idiot, ask. I can help you."

"Father, you hardly have enough for yourself, Gage, and the mission. I can hardly expect you to take care of me."

"Don't you chide me." Steele's upper lip curled as Harley dodged his gaze again, and he snapped both of his hands back to his sides. "You need to take care of yourself if you're going to keep on track and out of a straitjacket. Get on unemployment. It's not much but it'll carry you through."

"Father, I-"

"Don't make excuses at me." Steele ground his teeth together, then crossed his arms. "Get yourself together, and fix this! I can't fix you, you know what you have to do."

"I'm fine, Father." Harley put a hand out and carefully sidestepped to freedom. "I will take care of myself, but Gage has to come first. If I may." Without waiting for an answer, he turned around and strode for Gage's room again, and Steele pivoted for the door, because Christ, he needed a smoke.

Harley stopped midway between where Steele had hauled him and Gage's room, and dug into his pockets and found three bottles. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, and lithium. He turned them over in his palm, trying to remember.

_"When... was the last time...?"_

That emotional outburst was the first he'd noticed the change, and he'd had to do the math. The first time he'd forgotten was the night after Jo didn't come home. He'd spent the whole day fretting and worrying, but resolved to give him the space he needed to resolve what had happened. Then, Gage was shot, and Harley had been doing whatever he had to to ensure he survived the night, then every night thereafter. He'd kept forgetting until he realized he did, and he had to count back days. That was when the math changed.

Harley remembered the cost of his medications on the insurance bill. He knew exactly what they would cost without insurance. He also knew his and Jo's budget, because they'd discussed it once or twice, and he knew their every cost, how high Jo's rent was, the cost of electricity, cable, water, and food. They scraped by while employed, but unemployment would massacre their budget. Even if they cut cable and lived in the dark, if they were going to keep a roof over their heads, Harley's medicine was beyond their means.

He counted the pills in each bottle. He knew he had to take them, because when he did go back to his parole officer, they would check his blood for the chemical markers. But he felt alright. Not perfect, but alright. If he could skip days here and there to stretch them out, maybe he could last until they were both employed again.

He pocketed the bottles and returned to Gage's room, where the doctor was just pulling off his gloves. Gage grinned to see him, but the gesture was taut. "Hey, he says I'm doin' real good! I might not even need any more surgeries!" He pulled up his shirt as the doctor left, showing off the big, round scar in the center of his belly. "This might even go away if I take good care of it."

"We'll get you the right lotion, and you've still got growing to do." Harley sat down on the edge of his bed and touched Gage's hair. It prickled his skin, and he quickly withdrew. "What would you like to do? I believe you've done quite enough schoolwork today, anything you'd like."

Gage's expression sparked with delight, his hands coming to eager little fists in front of him. "D'ya think Jojo'd mind if we watched a movie without him?"

"I don't think he would mind at all." Harley slipped down to grab the stack of DVDs from under the bed. Something flashed in the corner of his vision, someone giggled at the edge of his hearing, and he had to shake it off as Gage hummed overhead.

"I wish he'd come around more. He's been lookin' kinda sad every time I see him. I hope it's not 'cause of me, y'know?"

"Ah, dear." Harley returned to the bed with the movies and Jo's laptop. "He's just busy looking for a new job, I'm sure. Don't worry about him, alright?"

Gage shrugged and mumbled something about having to worry about his best friends, but Harley politely ignored him. Poor boy, he was hurt, he was still in such poor shape. Harley didn't want him to worry about anything but himself, and especially not him.

Even still, he had to wonder after Jo.

* * *

Jo hated that he couldn't be around Gage, but what good was he going to do the kid, anyway? He had bigger things to take care of. Harley, for starters.

Jo had spent days sifting through all his stuff, picking out anything he could pawn or sell off. Any movie Gage wouldn't like, some of his vinyls, a pair of shoes. His weights were worthless, beaten-up, with the rubber peeling off and the weights etched after the paint rubbed off. His stereo- well, that would have brought a pretty penny, but he just couldn't make himself let go. He didn't have much, but he managed to scrounge a spare fifty dollars. Then, he started making the rounds to every grungy card house in the quarter. He'd take the fifty, make another fifty, then put it away and leave. Take the last fifty, work up another, and leave before he pushed his luck too far. He never stuck around one joint too long, and tried to space out his visits. Sure, he'd be noticed, but maybe they'd figure he was just a gamer and not trying to make a living.

He knew he couldn't make a living like this anyway. He'd hit a losing streak, or just plain start screwing up, and he knew that if he got desperate and stupid he'd go back on his system and really screw things up. Still, he was building a buffer.

Jo did the budget in his head. Harley made a chart on his computer. The numbers worked out the same either way. Even canceling cable and leaving the lights off wasn't going to make ends meet on an unemployment check. Even worse, there were other numbers he had to worry about: an invisible ticking clock, lowering a swinging ax nearer and nearer to his neck with every creak of its cogs. He wasn't sure how long he could be without a job before Yana had to turn him in for breaking a condition of his parole. He was pretty damn sure Yana knew, since she and Kenny were tight, so he had, on the low end, until the next time he saw her. He might have been able to sweet-talk her into stalling, but even that would only last so long.

Time and money were both running short, bleeding out almost unseen. He had to get his priorities taken care of and his top priority had to be Harley.

Even if he couldn't look at the guy for more than thirty seconds without feeling his head swim, Jo felt a weird sense of duty to Harley. Maybe it was just that Harley had taken care of him for so long, or something else, but Jo resolved to take care of Harley for as long as he could. Keep him in their cozy, safe little apartment with neighbors he could hear through the walls, and on his medicines. Safe and sane. He had no clue what the medicines cost without insurance, probably way too much for little chunks of chalk, but Harley needed them to stay free. Harley wouldn't make it in actual prison. Jo didn't want to go back to prison, but he sure as hell would do better than Harley in jail.

He knew what he was doing wasn't a solution. Gambling wasn't going to cut it. Gambling to make ends meet would work about as well as a plastic knife on cheap steak. Besides, the safe issue was as important as anything, and right now, Jo couldn't be sure that having the safe walls of a home to retreat to would be enough.

That was why he had made the call.

_"Yo, Benny." Jo exhaled slowly, watching his breath condense in the air, steam on steam, gray on gray. "I need a favor. You got any odd jobs I can handle?"_

_Benny hadn't responded at first, but after a few tense, still seconds, he chuckled on the other end of the line. "Nice to see you've come to your senses, Jojo. I ain't got much now, but you give me a few days. I'll call you."_

He'd hung up without another word. Jo had a pretty good bead on why. Even when Benny hadn't been smoking pot or whatever crazy upper the Sharks were pushing this week, he was always a little paranoid. Not "Feds put radio transmitters in my fillings" paranoid, but definitely "Feds are tapping my phone" paranoid. Besides, Jo wasn't marked, so even if he was Benny's buddy, Benny was going to have to chat with whoever stood above him to make sure they were cool with him going along with whatever they were doing. So, Jo waited. He played cards and waited. He scrounged for pennies and stuff that might have had value to anyone other than him and waited. He tried not to think about Harley and waited.

Finally, he got the call, and he couldn't snatch it to his ear fast enough. "Jojo, buddy." Benny smirked on the other end of the line. "What say you and me meet up for a chat?"

Benny wouldn't spell out anything solid over the phone. Made sense. "Sure, dude. We talkin' coffee, or beer?"

"Let's not put anything in stone. Meet me at Fortieth and Kennedy. We'll walk, we'll talk, we'll figure it out." The line clicked dead, and Jo let his phone fall into his lap. That was weird, even by Benny standards.

Jo knew Fortieth and Kennedy. Fortieth was only two miles north of the docks, and Kennedy was way east, towards the old warehouse districts. Sharks and Crows owned the blocks, but when Benny was in town, he usually set himself up somewhere near here. Jo had slept here a few times. Sometimes, Benny had managed to pull off a rental, but sometimes, it was just busting in a back door and making do with whatever was left from whoever had been most recently evicted. He remembered sleeping on blankets under the front window, keeping one eye open in case the cops decided to do a no-knock raid. Not terrible, though. There was a Lucky Corner Store a block off where the owner didn't check IDs back when Jo was fourteen and craving a Lucky Strike when Benny wasn't around, and a cheap Chinese food place two blocks north. When Jo was living here, he usually wasn't hungry. Walking in the shadow of these sagging gray roofs and crumbling brick facades was nothing new. It was almost like coming home.

Jo waited for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette to bear out his nerves, until he saw Benny approaching with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his baggy coat. "Cold as shit for September, ain't it?" He laughed, and Jo nodded, but let his eyes run over him. He wasn't sure how okay he was with not being able to see Benny's hands, but as Benny took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up for himself, the puff in his jacket didn't droop with any unusual weight. If he had a weapon, he didn't have it ready. Didn't mean Jo wouldn't still watch him for it. Jo just shrugged to answer him.

"Been rainy, too. They're sayin' it'll be cold and wet and shitty 'til spring."

"Pfft." Benny blew a smoke ring. "Yeah, well, we'll see." He waved his hand. "Walk with me, Jojo. We gotta talk shop."

"Quit callin' me that fuckin' baby name and we'll talk." Jo still turned his heel to follow where Benny led, down into the slum row.

Benny spread his hands out around him. "Home sweet home, ain't it? We've been here before, ain't we?" He flung his cigarette butt onto the cracked stoop of one of the houses, and Jo looked it over. Slumped roof, sagging porch, siding long since peeled off and laid in a pile where there should have been a garden. "I was living there when I met you. 'Member, Jojo? We lived there for like six months, 'til I got called away to Philly on business."

Jo remembered. Memory like a loan shark. There'd been a racecar bed, and even if the mattress smelled like piss, it had been the first bed he'd slept in since leaving home two years before that. Eventually, the cop raided the house, Benny vanished, and Jo holed up for the winter outside of a restaurant, sleeping against the wall where the ovens were installed and raiding the dumpster for leftovers. Same old, same old. Except Benny came back three months later, scooped him right back up, and Jo fell back into his shadow.

"This neighborhood used'ta be okay." Benny spat on the sidewalk. "Those roofs were red thirty years ago. All these streets, used'ta be kids running around and screaming, riding their bikes, women talkin', life was good. You think my mom hauled ass over here from the Empire to drop me in a dump like this? She came over here 'cause there were jobs to be had, a community, a second chance. Those bastards in their black robes and crosses told her she'd have a life here, so she came over, and you know? When I was little, it was like that." Benny squinted into the foggy distance, then ground his teeth together. "But then the Business District started to boom in the eighties, and all those rich people poured in to make their buck here. Used'ta be we hired our own, but the big guys ate our businesses up, and when the big companies lifted their ugly, fat heads, they didn't hire us. They hired maids and cleaning ladies, unskilled labor, so they wouldn't have to talk to us or look at us or acknowledge that us folks from Shangri-La were human. They were all too busy patting themselves on the back for employing us at all to see that when the money dried up around here, the neighborhoods got drained. My mom worked for a little company that got swallowed by a big one, and she got cut in the aftermath. She had to take up work as a cleaning lady, getting thrown pennies." He stopped on one square of the sidewalk, just tracing the edge of a crooked crack with his toe, then thumbed at the house on their left. "That one, right there. From the day I was born, I lived there."

Jo glanced where he was pointing. It was a rowhouse like the rest of them, just as dilapidated, as run-down, as much as the rest of the surrounding block. Benny, though, twisted his smile into something wistful, and smirked back at Jo. "It used to be a nice neighborhood. But our neighbors all had the same problems as us." He trudged on, and Jo followed as sure as if he were a dog being walked. "With the rich people in town, the price for us climbed higher and higher. Food, electricity, water, taxes. You'd know 'bout all that shit, wouldn't ya?" Jo snorted and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, so that happens, but the paychecks got smaller and smaller, and for all that shit we got about a land of opportunity, and a second chance at a good life, everything ran dry. Me an' Ma cut corners 'til there was nothing left to cut but our own fucking limbs, and then we were dumped on the street without a second look." Benny's lip curled, his fists tightened at his sides. "Sure, there's government assistance, but taking it is like taking a knife to your pride, and even that barely gets ya jack. S'why we made our own ways of living, of making money. They put us on the streets, so the streets are ours. We take what we need that way. Why else would you fucking join up?" Benny opened his hands again, and Jo, nodding, answered.

"You join the Crows 'cause you're hungry."

"Hungry for more. Hungry for better. You get it, Jojo!" Benny held his hands out again, palms up. "We lose our homes and get crammed into shitty rentals. Stores, businesses, all get shuttered because we can't buy from each other when we ain't got money ourselves. Grocery stores can't stay open when we can't afford more than rice, beans, and water. All these empty streets, all these empty houses, because we just ain't good enough. Banks, businesses, politicians, they don't give a shit because they ain't us, why the fuck would they help us? The cops know we're doing what we gotta to survive, but they just watch ya and wait for ya to fuck up so they can put you away, put ya into slave labor making license plates and picking up garbage on highways, or maybe they don't even bother with the legal system and fuckin' beat ya to death. That's Chance Fucking Harbor, Jojo! This was our second chance, and we did everything right, but they fucked it up!" He spun around to Jo. "We're taking this motherfucker back."

Jo wasn't sure what to say, and was left with crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "Look, bro, it's fucked up, but what do you mean?"

Benny clenched his fists in front of him. "They won't sell us our houses back. Fine. We take 'em back. They won't give us jobs, they hoard their money, fine, we take it. They send their pigs to beat us down, well, fuck 'em. In Shangri-La, they eat every part of the pig but the squeal." He grinned madly, and Jo realized his voice had taken on a familiar tone. It was the "big idea" tone, the way he talked when he was onto a hot tip. He heard it the time Benny got Zack to hack an ATM using nothing but a Speak-and-Spell, a few wires from a remote control, and a positive attitude. He also heard it the night they tried to take a hotel safe using home-cooked explosives. Benny, hyped to the point of shaking, seized Jo's shoulders. "We're taking it back, Jojo. This is gonna be our city again. You might think I'm talking crazy, but hell, Jojo, if crazy's all we got, then good god damn if we ain't gonna use it! If you're with me again, you're going to be playing with the big boys, and you can't walk in stupid, you got me?" He gave Jo a shake. "Are you with me, Jojo?"

Jo stared into Benny's face, studying him for the first time in years. He was definitely older, the blue rings under his eyes deeper than ever, a thin scar across his forehead, but the mark next to his eyebrow hadn't faded. His eyes were wild with light, his grin so wide it was menacing. Jo grimaced a little and took a step back.

"I dunno about the big idea stuff, but I'll do whatever you want."

All he needed was an in. If he was skimming off of Benny's profits, then he could pay off his bills and Harley's medicines, and if he was working for Benny, he could keep an ear on the gangs and whatever Jenning and the wicked rich bitch had planned. He had no way of knowing if they were really off the hook for good, and even worse, something seemed fishy about that Holy Man. He would do whatever Benny asked if it let him do what he had to for his friends.

Benny didn't know that, didn't need to, and just smirked at Jo's acquiescence. "That's the ticket, buddy. Why not ease into it? Maybe you're not so sure about joining up, but I know you're hungrier for better than this." He held a hand out, and when Jo extended his back to shake it, Benny slapped his palm. "That's the spirit, Jojo." He turned on his heel. "I've got a job tomorrow night, gathering resources. I'll call you in as a lookout, so keep your phone on ya. Get your toesies wet." Benny snickered as if he were particularly witty, and Jo shrugged his shoulders back. He vaguely realized he was scowling, but wiped it down and turned on his heel.

He half-wondered what Harley would think of him, but that didn't, couldn't matter right now. He had nothing left but two hands and no better way to use them, and if this would keep Harley alive, nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, neighbors, countrymen, fangirls, let me make clear from here on: Harley is not a role model. DO NOT FUCK WITH THE DOSAGE OF YOUR MEDICINE. If you are prescribed antipsychotics, or any kind of medicine that is meant to maintain your mental health, DO NOT SKIP DOSES AND DO NOT STOP TAKING YOUR MEDICINE WITHOUT THE ADVICE OF A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. This point is going to get hammered home in the coming chapters, and I know you are all smarter than that (and hell, Harley is smarter than that, but he's not in a good mental place right now), but please, do not emulate this behavior.
> 
> And in case it wasn't perfectly clear, don't be like Jo, either.


	23. Something Gained...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo reaps the rewards of his decision to go back to Benny.

**22: Something Gained...**

Beg, borrow, or steal, that was how Jo had survived the first few years on the street. It mostly ended up being steal, and from what Benny had said, that was where it was going again. "Gathering resources." That meant taking stuff. Money, usually, or things they could sell for money. Jo knew how this worked. Benny would tell him what to do, and like a trained dog, he would.

He didn't go back to his apartment, on the off-chance that Harley would be there. Harley would ask questions, and Jo wouldn't be able to answer them without giving himself away. He could handle talking around little things, things Harley wouldn't care about, like rescheduling his parole appointment to match with Harley's that one time, or not losing more than fifty dollars at poker in a night, but Harley always seemed to cut through every verbal weave and parry when it was important. Jo still didn't know how to feel about that. It hadn't mattered up until now, because the things Harley caught him in were usually things he could laugh off, and that Harley could fix with ease and a smile. This was something that mattered.

It mattered enough that even if he couldn't lie his way out of it, it had to be done.

Benny texted Jo to meet him outside of a cigar shop on the North end of the city after midnight. Jo stopped at a convenience store for a fresh pack of cigarettes and a cheap black ski hat and meandered his way up there through the night time stragglers, men in thick jackets with their faces buried in scarves, condensation clouding around them from muttered conversations in languages Jo didn't know. Jo moved slowly north, looping in gradual circles around the block and silently taking note of the cameras hanging off of the lamp posts. He tried to note blind spots, places his face wouldn't be seen from above. He scantly realized how often he was checking his phone, watching the seconds tick by, closer and closer.

Jo made sure he strolled up to the cigar store just after the hour, and found a guy he didn't recognize dawdling next to a bunch of trashcans, fidgeting with the screen of his phone. Definitely Shangri-La, gel in his hair and pockmarks on hollow cheeks. Jo couldn't see his mark, but not everyone was as stupid as Benny to put it on his or her face. Jo held out his cigarette box, nudged a cigarette out of the opening, and nodded in greeting, and the guy glanced up from his phone to size Jo up. He squinted, then turned back down at his phone. Jo shrugged, flipped the cig up to his own lips, and lit it up so he wouldn't call the guy a jackass out loud.

Other guys straggled in from other directions, all Shangri-La, and though most of them were dressed for the chill, bundled under hats and thick jackets, Jo picked out a Crows mark on one of their necks. At least he knew he had the right place. Benny strolled in last to make a total of five, wearing a scarf over his face. Some of the guys gathered waved to him, but Jo just stuffed his hands into his pockets and jerked his head towards him. "Hey, kids." Benny grinned under his scarf, and moved it down a little to put a cigarette in. "Let's get down to business."

"Who's the kid?" The first guy there thrust a thumb towards Jo. Jo tugged at his hat, pulling it down over his ears. Being called a kid made him hot under the collar.

"Jojo? Ahh, he's an old bud from before. M'just bringin' him back into the fold." Benny took a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Tonight's gonna be basics. Nothing fancy, just a break-and-take. We split from here and meet there, we get in, we take what's good, we get the fuck out." There were cross-streets etched onto the paper, and a number circled a few blocks away. "I got someone meeting us with a car over there at quarter to one, and there's a guy with a plastic tub. We're gonna do a brigade sorta thing once we get in. We'll talk specifics in there."

Jo was scratching his head. Plastic tub? Getaway car, fine, but what were they taking that they needed a plastic tub for, cobras? Benny cut into his thoughts: "Jojo, you're just gonna be lookout tonight." Jo realized Benny was pointing at him, and he nodded dumbly. One of the other guys chuckled and yanked on Jo's hair.

"You think you can handle that? Just whistle if ya see cops." The other guys started to kick off the walls and cans they'd propped themselves on, the pockmarked jerk snickering at Jo as he trudged a lazy circle around Jo. "You know how to whistle, doncha, faggot? Ya put your lips together an' blow." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled down the alley. Jo spat at his ankles.

"It was hotter when Mae West did it." He didn't think about soft, inviting lips and warm, dry hands on the bare skin of his back.

He didn't think about what Harley would think of him.

Jo knew the back streets of this part of town as well as the rest of it, and wandered his way through. He caught glimpses of the others as he wound in the least direct route through the cross streets as possible, and circled past the address Benny had noted down. "American Reload – Guns and Ammo." Well, shit. That told Jo a lot. He heard a whistle as he moved past the alley, and spotted Benny down the alley and knelt down by a box on the ground next to a side entrance. Jo could see a camera pointed directly at the back door. Benny motioned for Jo to find a way around, and Jo nodded and circled the building again to find a fire escape on a nearby building. The building looked abandoned, but the fire escape still lowered down when he pulled on the lever. He vaulted up, crept across the roof, and dropped down behind Benny. "Smart kid," Benny chuckled, and Jo realized he was working at a fuse box. "You know shit about electronics?"

"Talking to the wrong guy," Jo grumbled, and squinted at it. He'd seen a fuse box in movies, lots of them, but even he knew that pushing buttons and flipping switches wouldn't work in real life. A guy had to know which switch to flip, or he'd just shut the whole thing off, and a shop like this, even in this shitty part of town, would have a silent alarm that would probably get triggered if the power went off. Benny hissed, and glanced up at the camera, and Jo followed his gaze. "What if we just cut the wire?"

"Gimme a boost, I got the cutters."

Jo got down on his hands, and Benny stepped up onto his shoulders behind the camera to cut the wire. "That'll do that," Benny muttered as he got down, and Jo dusted his shoulders as he got up. The other gangsters were congregating nearby, milling in the alleys and street. If nothing else, they were doing a good job of looking nonchalant for the street cameras. Benny motioned with his hand, and one guy joined them, and Jo saw the others move to circle to the back door.

"What're you gonna do about the alarm? There's gonna be an alarm. Probably cameras inside, too." Jo caught Benny's eye for a second, then broke back to glancing around at the door.

"I'm gonna smash their computers. As for the alarm, we're just gonna move fast. I'm guessin' we're gonna have five to ten minutes, tops." Benny motioned for the others. "Line up on me. Jo, you see, hear, or smell bacon, you shout." Jo stepped back and towards the intersection of alley and street, and Benny took out a pocketknife as the other four gangsters gathered behind him. "Just hold up, gotta crack this fuckin' oyster." With a few jerks of the knife, Benny popped the door open, and Jo spun to face the street as they all stormed in.

He put one of his earbuds in and listened around it. He kept bracing himself for more, for worse, for things to go wrong, but the seconds ticked by, each one nagging at his nerves, and the street stayed silent. A few clanking cars rumbled past. A Shangri-La girl missing part of an ear bustled past, gaze glued forward. People who had no choice but to be out, and then there was him. Jo caught the squeal of a distant siren and yanked his earbud out, but the noise moved east and faded out.

Eyes open. Ears open. Try not to think too hard about what you're doing.

Finally, Jo heard Benny's voice again, and glanced over his shoulder to see the other goons hustling out, carrying a big plastic tub between two of them. Benny motioned for three of them to make tracks, and they scattered down and through the alleys and side streets, and Benny and the last guy carried the tub, swaying heavy and clanking with each step, out into the road. A clunky, rusty sedan with no license plates screeched to a halt on the street, the trunk popped open, and Benny shoved the tub into the back. Benny cupped a hand over his mouth towards Jo: "Meet me back at the usual spot."

Jo nodded a little, and pretended not to see the car as Benny and the other guy jumped into the back and sped away. He couldn't even guess how much the guns they had just stolen were worth, or how much cash they'd snatched, but he knew just how much damage could be done in five or ten minutes. He'd seen Benny at the table, six or seven guys hanging off of him, counting out a stack of hundreds after five minutes in a jewelry store and an hour at a pawn shop. Jo got new sneakers the next day. Jo had never had new sneakers. Guns, though, guns might be better off as they were, but no doubt someone was going to pay him for those guns, and Jo's shoes didn't have any holes right now.

Jo stopped at another convenience store, this one near one of the card rooms he frequented, this time for an energy drink and a lottery ticket, just so his face was on camera close enough to the time of the crime that he could call it an alibi. Then, he made his way back to Benny's old turf. There were lights on at one of the houses on the Forty block between Kennedy and Johnson, and Jo figured it was a safe bet that if he hung around long enough, Benny would make his way in. That, or Jo would get shot or mugged, but hell, let 'em try it. So, Jo hung around and smoked, feeling weirdly nonchalant about what Yana would have told him was conspiracy, accessory to a felony, breaking and entering, and probably felony robbery. True to his instincts, though, Benny showed up soon enough, swaggering down the sidewalk under a stream of smoke and with his hands stuffed tight in his pockets. Jo swung a step out to meet him, setting his shoulders flat.

"Alright, dude, show me what we're talkin'."

"You sure I can't just pay you in food?" Benny sneered, but slipped out an envelope. "Man, you worked for cheap as a kid, sure we can't go back to those terms?"

"I ain't a kid no more. I got stuff I need to take care of, and cash is my bottom line."

"Pity." Benny slapped a handful of cash into Jo's palm. Hundreds. Jo's stomach nearly turned right then and there, but he swallowed it and pocketed it away. "S'a damn shame. You were such an innocent little sprout."

"Innocent, my ass." Jo grimaced and shook his head. "Call me when you got somethin' else." He turned on his heel, and Benny chuckled.

"You got it, little Jojo."

Jo's stomach and head swirled as he shuffled back out. The money in his pocket was heavy, made him feel heavy, made him feel dirty. Maybe this was okay when he was a kid, he could say he didn't know what he was doing, he was just trying to survive. He could say the same now: he was just trying to survive, but was he really no good for anything else?

Maybe he really was no good.

_Idiot._

_Faggot._

_You'll hurt him._

_"Leave."_ The memory of Harley's eyes, hardened with disgust, his hands recoiling at even being near Jo. Utterly repulsed at associating with someone  _like him._

_"Little bastards like_ _you_ _"_

_"You look just like your nasty slut mama with that bloody hair"_

_"Stop crying and hold still, faggot, or I'll find someone who'll give you what you really deserve!"_

_"Good for nothing little shit"_

Jo squeezed the money in his pocket and tried not to think about it, to think only of what he'd gained. He knew he needed it. He just hated, fucking hated the price.

He walked for what felt like a long time, shoes wearing down against the gritty sidewalk, one of the last gray ghosts wandering the mists of the city in her witching hour, going nowhere, not sure where to go. He finally chose a destination: Mercy. He hadn't seen Gage in what felt like days, so poking his head in on the kid was... well, maybe not a good idea, but it was sure better than anything else he had. Nobody in the reception area batted an eye at him- either they recognized him as the guy who brought the shot-up kid in, or there was just an expectation of dirty drifters meandering in to use the toilets. Nobody even looked twice when he strolled into the ICU, except the nurse at the sign-in, and even then, he didn't say much.

"I just want to check in on the kid. Make sure he's sleeping okay."

Gage was good. Gage was simple. This was simple. Jo could handle simple right now. Probably not much more.

Still, simple wasn't in Jo's cards, because he could see Gage's shadow shifting, face down, against the mattress as he trudged in. He kept his footsteps soft, but tapped Gage's shoulder. Gage immediately went completely still, and Jo snorted. "Okay, brat, no faking." Gage lifted his face, and Jo could see the light on his cell phone from where it was buried under his pillow, on top of a colorful comic book. He pouted as Jo helped him roll over and sit up. "What're ya doin' up?"

"Reading." Gage held up the comic with a beam, and Jo tapped his cheek. (Not a slap, not even the lightest hit, hadn't he been hurt enough lately?)

"I can see that, dummy, but it's like three in the morning. Can't ya sleep?" He pulled the chair up and perched on it then held Gage's gaze, until Gage finally shook his head. "What's wrong? Something bugging ya?"

Gage hung his head, mulish for a moment, before mumbling, "I was asleep, I just woke up. The needle in my arm got kinda achy. 'Cause the skin's all swelled up." He bared his arm; the lump where the needle was inserted was visible in the floodlights from outside. "And..." Gage bit his lip. "Well... it... it still kinda hurts."

Jo put his finger next to his own ribcage, not wanting to go anywhere near Gage's torso. "Where your tummy got cut open?"

Gage hesitantly nodded. "I can't have the pain medicine that goes in my arm anymore, 'cause it makes me too loopy, and if I'm loopy, they can't keep fixing me. So, they give me these pills, but they stop working after a couple hours." He crossed his arms tight. "They keep asking me if it hurts, and... uhm... I tell 'em no."

"The doctors?"

"Dad 'n' Harl. Harl says if it hurts, they can give me more pills, but I don't want 'em to worry." Gage closed his hands around the sheets and squeezed, and Jo patted his face again.

"Hey, hey, why not? It's our job to worry about you, we're your friends."

Gage withdrew, ducking his face down. "They're already worried enough. I can tell. Dad's been smoking more, and Harl's actin'... more Harl-ish than he already does, y'know what I mean?" Jo cringed, and hoped Gage couldn't see it in the dark.

"They're grown-ups, kiddo, sometimes, they have grown-up problems. But they've always got it in us to worry more about you. They care about you."

"You do too, right?"

"You know it." Jo grinned, and he could tell Gage was grinning too.

"I missed you, Jojo." Gage leaned towards him, but Jo felt only an uncomfortable pang in his gut at the name. "Where ya been?"

"Takin' care of stuff." Jo shrugged his shoulders back against the hard back of the seat. "Grown-up stuff."

Gage puzzled a little and put on a frown. "Hmm. Harl's real worried. He doesn't say so, but I can tell. He checks his phone a lot while we're watching movies."

Jo sputtered into a chuckle. "I'm pretty sure he just hates my movies."

"No, it's different. He's looking at his missed calls and texts, like there's something there, and he can't see it." Gage rolled his eyes down and away. "Dad's worried about you, too. At least a little."

Jo actually had to laugh. Like that old man gave a shit about him. As if. "They shouldn't. I'm good, kid, just dealing with stuff."

Gage crossed his arms, his eyes sharp in the knife-like shafts of light. "They're gonna worry, Jo. They care about you. So do I." He bit his lip. "Dad's not so good at showing it, an' Harl... I think you mean the world to him."

"Yeah?" Jo laughed, because the alternative was screaming, because those words stung. "Well, that's me, kid." He reached out and put his hand on Gage's head, letting it rest heavy against him for a moment, then ruffled his hair into a fluffy mess. "Greatest in the world." Gage giggled, and Jo rolled up from his chair and pulled Gage's sheets down. "Alright, kid, it's way late, and you know your Dad's gonna be here in like three hours, so try to sleep a little. I'll send a nurse to check on you in case you can't sleep."

He eased Gage back down and tucked him in, seeing him off with a brush of his fingers across his forehead. He heard a faint whisper of "G'night, bro," and hung his head as he left the room. The nurse paid Jo no attention as he signed out, more interested in the charts under her hands than him, and didn't raise her head when he spoke up. "The little guy's been up. He says he's having pain."

"We're aware," she answered, and Jo noticed her flip to his chart. Her gaze quickly traveled the page. "There's nothing we can do for him without putting him back on a drip IV, and his guardian has said that he'll only consent to that as a last resort. If his pain becomes unbearable."

"I thought so. Figures." Jo sighed in disgust and turned back for the doors into the cold, damp, grimy city. Nothing he could do to help. Nothing he could do. That was him, alright. 'Greatest in the world.'

Greatest pile of shit.

It was close to five when Jo got into the stairwell up to his apartment, the familiar smell of stewed fish and brine that emanated from the walls not pleasant, but kind of comforting as it hit him, then swallowed him up. None of the lights were on, but he felt his way up the banister to the fifth floor. Say what you would about this place, there was nothing like coming home, even if home was kind of a dump.

He'd found he liked the place a lot better after he'd gotten a roommate. He didn't mind spending nights in when he wasn't spending them staring at a screen with nothing but the facsimile of human voices. Even now, going back home, with Harley asleep in his bed, it'd be nice just to be near someone...

Jo grimaced at all the words that finished that thought, and finally concluded: Someone like him.

He pushed the door open, expecting to feel his way through darkness, but instead stumbled into dim light. Harley was seated on the bed with the lamp on, next to the window, with a book open in his lap. He looked up as Jo opened the door, and the two met eyes for the first time in days. Harley pursed his lips and shut his book, and Jo closed the door behind him just as Harley swung his legs to the floor and got to his feet. "You're home." He smiled, and Jo felt the slide of his lips like a knife in his gut. "I... I haven't seen you. Where have you been?"

Jo opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Finally, he let his jaw fall shut and took the wad of money from his pocket. "I got rent and food money. Uh, we can take care of the landlord in the morning, but, uh, how much do you need?"

Harley frowned, his face unusually hard in the dim light, and he took a few steps closer. Jo put the money down on the kitchen table and stepped back. Harley noticed, and brought his hands up in front of him to fidget as he examined the money. "That wasn't the conversation we were having, but we can have this one first if you'd like. I'm not sure what you mean when you ask how much I need."

"For your meds, dude. You need those like I need air."

Harley seemed to recoil, his fingers curling into knots with each other, and he took a taut breath, then sighed it out. "Money will be a problem, and my medicine is expensive, but whatever you did to get this wasn't worth it." He looked over to Joel, evincing something that felt a lot like pity on Jo's nerves. "I'll find new employment and so shall you, and we'll make do until then, but whatever you did-"

"I hocked some stuff." Jo stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets so Harley wouldn't see him tighten his fingers to fists. "Played a shitload of poker. Helped a guy move a couch. There's definitely enough for rent if I toss in what I've got left-"

Harley had started to sift through the bills, and the exhausted pity on his face was shifting into concern mixed with curiosity. "Why would you sell your personal belongings? You don't have very much-" He frowned. "Joel, this is clearly more than..." He drew his hands back all at once, his face and body rigid. "I can't accept this."

Jo's stomach dropped, because that right there was the first fucking shoe, the crack in the levee, and all that was left was to flail until he drowned. Still, didn't mean he wouldn't try. "I got it for you. You need your meds or you're gonna get locked up again."

"You're one to talk!" Harley's voice cracked, and he spun on his heel to face Jo. His eyes were wide, fingers laced in plea, and Jo shook his head.

"Look, I told you, I helped a guy move a couch up like four flights of steps-"

"No, you didn't. I don't believe you." Harley's voice was quaking, but shit if he'd ever been that blunt before. Jo didn't like blunt. It stung like a bullet in his chest, but instead of just bleeding him dry, it sent blood rushing to his face and threw his hands down to his sides.

"It doesn't matter," he ground out. "You need it. Just get your meds."

"Jo, no. You can't-"

"This is what I got, man." Jo slapped a hand on the table next to the cash. "This is what I can do, and if that ain't good enough-"

"Joel, it's nothing to do with that!" Harley's voice cracked, and he stormed closer to Jo. "Whatever you did to get-  _this_ -" like it was something unspeakably dirty- "It can't be worth it. What if you're caught? You're not a child anymore, you'll be jailed for years!" Harley was gesticulating wildly, but it all bounced off of Jo only to ricochet in his head. "Worse, they'll throw the book at you because you're a repeat offender, you'll never see daylight again-"

Something in Jo popped, and he snapped, "It doesn't matter!" The room was deathly still for a moment, each shadow shuddering in place, and Harley recoiled like he'd been splashed with acid. Jo sucked in a breath, and released it: "None of that matters! I had to do something to get us money, I did it. I did what I could! If it ain't good enough for ya, ya goddamned ingrate, then I don't know what you want me to say!"

"Jo." Harley seemed to recover enough to approach Jo again, but there was a shake to his voice Jo hadn't heard before. "You're upset, I know, but if you calm down, we can talk through this." Jo gritted his teeth as Harley extended a hand, and jerked his arm back when he tried to touch him.

"Fuck off. Ain't nothin' to talk about." He started to turn to leave, muttering, "I got shit to do. Places to be. Not here."

"You need to move another couch, I suppose." Harley laughed, but it wasn't the fake laugh. Not the regular one. Bitter, laughing at his own stupidity. Jo couldn't help but glance back at him as he ran a hand back over his eyes, and gripped his head. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

Jo whipped back around, gobsmacked for a second, and his mouth started before his head could. "The fuck are you on about?"

"You're avoiding me. You won't talk to me." Harley's shoulders were rigid, but he still clutched at his own head. "Because we slept together."

All the blood drained from Jo's face at once, blanching him ghost-cold. "Ain't like that."

"Then what is it like? I'm afraid I see no other good alternative explanation as to why we can't have an actual conversation." Harley's spine slumped slowly, arching him forward, his head bowed into his chest. "I... I coerced you. I...  _forced_  you... it's no wonder you can't trust me anymore."

The cold in Jo's face spread to the rest of him, and he was getting clammy, his stomach writhing under his skin. "Shut up, Harl."

Harley didn't, his knees starting to shake. "I'm... a criminal... a sick monster..."

"Shut up!"

"Ahaha." Harley buried his face in his hands. "I understand... Jo..."

"No you fucking don't!" Jo stomped one foot down, heat and fire racing back through him all at once. Harley jumped, and Jo took another hard step towards him, making him stumble back. "Just shut up! Shut the fuck up! I can't fucking stand you right now!"

Harley cringed. "Joel, please-"

"I'm gonna do what I gotta, and if you don't like it, tough fucking tits, and that's it!"

"Joel." Harley had scooped up what remained of his composure, and held it out with shaking hands, making one last bid to reach for Jo, but his face was hard and his expression pained. "Just... just tell me what's wrong. We need to talk about this. Tell me what's wrong!"

"You!" Jo threw his fists back, and without even realizing it, he'd raised his voice to a shout, and the ceiling seemed to shake. The rest of the room, the rest of the universe froze. "It's you! It's always you!" Jo didn't wait for a retort or a return, but Harley was shrinking away, and Jo dug in. "Little mister perfect, with some smart answer to everything! Too good to get his hands dirty, hate yourself for doing what you have to, model fucking prisoner, you!" Harley's cheeks turned crimson, and he pressed his hands over them. Jo, though, Jo was just spilling everything out. "You think you know everything- talking all that shit about what we did, like you don't fucking know what you did! You think you're better than me?" Jo's lip curled, and he bit the next words off. "Of course you do." Harley cringed, knees buckling, and if he was trying to speak or protest, Jo couldn't hear him, didn't want to hear it. "Smarter, better, always know just how to wrap me around your fucking fingers and squeeze, but you have no goddamn clue what it is to just fucking get by! You always had something to go back to, but all I got is rock bottom, and god damn it, I'm trying to keep the both of us from running down the drain and you're too proud, too good to just let me try to fix shit for once in my fucking life!"

"J-Jo-"

"You really think the world's just gonna work out 'cause you want it to? Life don't work like that! Look at you!" Jo threw his fists back again. "Actin' like everything's gonna be fine just going on like we are, but we can't, 'cause it's not! Something's gotta give, and for fuck's sake, if you can't accept that this is what I gotta do for us to survive, then I ought'a just-"

_Leave._

He froze up at the sound of the word in his own mind, the cold, hard way Harley had spat it at him on the day they'd met.

He'd had no idea he was this angry. He couldn't even think straight through everything that had come out of him. But now, he was just one of two monsters stuck in this tiny, cold room, two criminals who couldn't get straight. Worse, getting it all out hadn't helped.

It just made clear just how badly Jo had fucked up everything.

Jo clamped down on everything. "And your music sucks, too!" He snatched most of the money off the table, pivoted for the door, and marched out, unable to take another second of Harley staring at him, because he was either about to punch him in the face or to grab onto him and beg him,  _please, I don't know how to fix this,_ but fuck it, he was worthless enough already. He couldn't help Gage. He couldn't protect his friends. He couldn't take care of Harley.

Why even try?

He slammed the door behind him, pretending he could shed it all off, and stormed for the door. He wasn't sure where he would go next or what he would do, but he wasn't going to do any of it here.

Harley, though, Harley had watched Jo leave. He had no idea what to say, what could be said.

Instead, he started to laugh.

He wasn't sure when he stopped.


	24. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo takes a step closer to the dark underworld of Shangri-La. Harley discovers something about his parole officer, just as he discovers that Harley's going off the rails.

**23: Colors**

Jo threw himself against the door to K-One, but grunted when they didn't open and he staggered back. The doors had always been open before, but that they were shut tight now was just insult on top of insult. He sank to his knees and pounded on the door over and over, the noise sending birds scattering into the misty, murky dawn and echoing off of all the holes he'd punched in his soul. The door flung open, and in a blink, Steele's pistol was at his nose. Jo glowered up at Steele around the gun, only to find that Steele was matching his disgust and disdain. Jo pushed Steele's wrist aside. "If you're gonna shoot me, then just do it already!"

"Do you have a fucking death wish? What the fuck do you want?" Steele put the gun up, and Jo stumbled to a stand.

"I need you to take this." He thrust the money from his pocket at Steele. He'd made his decision, and he was sticking to it. "Harley needs money for his medicines, and-"

"Don't think I don't know how you got that." Steele crossed his arms under his ugly sneer.

"You don't know shit!" Jo thrust his hand out to him, into his chest, but Steele merely stepped back. The pistol still peeked out from the crook of Steele's elbow, a constant warning, but Jo didn't care, just throwing his fist out again. "Take it. You need to pay Gage's hospital bills, Harl needs his meds, and I know you hardly got enough for yourself. Just take it!" He jabbed his hand in again, almost punching him with the fistful of dollars, and Steele jerked his knee directly into Jo's gut.

"I don't take in trash." Jo heaved and stumbled back, and Steele crossed his arms and tossed his head back. "I only take people who genuinely want and need help. Not dirty money, and not dirty bastards."

Jo lunged for Steele. "Fuck you, old man!" Steele shut the door before Jo could actually strike at him, and heaved a sigh as Jo continued to swear at the door. He ran his fingers back through his hair, grimacing at the doors shaking behind him. It only made him think about the first time he'd seen Jo walk through them…

_It was thirteen years ago. Gabe remembered because he wasn't used to seeing boys his age join the mess line, but there he was. He was pretty tall, but his face was definitely that of a kid his age, if not younger. Connor had seen him too, and he had clapped his hands to his mouth, the heart he wore on his sleeve broken right in two. Gabe wasn't sure what he'd seen, because all he saw was a cockroach with that wild red hair sticking up like antennae and what had probably been a too-large white tank top stained brown and black with grime, dust, and motor oil. His face was brown from the sun, except for the ragged gauze bandage on his cheek. He smiled at the volunteers who filled his plate, and Gabe noticed the same sad look Connor donned on all of their faces as he trudged past them. He sat at one of the tables by himself and devoured the rice and meat on his plate like he'd never seen food before. Connor patted Gabe's shoulder and broke away from him to sit with the boy._

_"I don't think I've seen you before, young man." Gabe sneaked around the side of the room to eavesdrop as Connor lowered himself on the bench next to the red-haired boy just as he jammed the straw into the Mott's box on his tray. "You're very brave to come alone. Where's your mother?"_

_The red-haired boy chewed and swallowed, guzzled the juice in his box, and shrugged. "Under Jackie's car." He dug right back into his portion, as Connor blinked a few times, processing what he'd said._

_Finally, he seemed to find words: "You don't have a father, do you? A Grandpa, or a Nana, maybe?"_

_"Guess they've all been gone a while." The red-haired boy shrugged again, then pushed his empty plate back._

_Connor frowned to himself, puzzling over him, as he strove to avoid meeting Connor's eyes. "Do you have anywhere to go?" The boy, yet again, shrugged his shoulders, and Gabe wondered if he knew anything for sure, or why he just didn't want to tell. Connor tapped his lower lip. "You don't know? I see." He swung his legs under the bench, as the red-haired boy gripped the seat and cautiously glanced at Connor over his shoulder. "You know, I might have an extra bed for you. In fact, I have plenty I could spare. Food. Clothes-" He eyed his filthy rags, and the boy seemed to do the same and cringe- "In fact, I even know of an excellent school for intelligent, brave young men like yourself that would be happy to take you. Perhaps you could stay with me until you know where you want to go."_

_"Nope." The red-haired boy jumped up to his feet and dusted his hands on his pants, and Connor knit his brow up._

_"Why not?"_

_"'Cause I know what you're tryin' to do." The boy looked Connor dead in the eyes and smiled. "You're a priest. Mom said not to talk to priests. She said priests fuck little boys in the ass, and if that happened, I'd die and go right to hell. So, thanks, but no thanks, Padre." He beamed a little brighter as Connor clapped a hand over his mouth as if it would hide his shock, then turned and shuffled for the exit, leaving Connor confused and Gabe burning with anger in his wake. Connor recovered as the boy reached the door, and Gabe followed too, all too curious, as Connor caught his arm and crouched down to meet his gaze again._

_"Is there a chance your mother was wrong?"_

_"Mm. Maybe." The boy dropped his face to the floor. "Don't wanna find out the hard way." He jerked his arm from Connor's grasp and pushed the door open, and Connor was left staring as he vanished into the afternoon sun, red hair alight even as the door shut on him. Gabe tapped Connor's shoulder as he stared at the door._

_"Father? Why didn't you call the police? Maybe they would have taken him and given you custody."_

_"Ah." Connor sighed and wrapped an arm around Gabe's shoulder. "I suppose he hadn't committed a crime, and I had no reason to think anyone had committed a crime against him, and by the time I realized, he was there and gone. But if I had forced him to stay, or if the police tried to force him to stay, he likely would have run away." Connor turned to Gabe and tipped his chin up. "But he knows this door is open to him, so if there's even an inkling of doubt in him, he knows he can come back here. We're a guiding light, not a shepherd's rod, and using force isn't always the right answer. These doors will remain open to him, and if he comes back, I'll speak with him again, as many times as it takes, and he'll accept help when he's ready."_

_Gabe remembered the lesson, but he didn't see him again. Not for years. He didn't even learn his name until a decade later, when there was a knock on the door to the vestibule. He bustled past the volunteers to answer it, annoyed at the rhythmic ruckus, until he flung the door wide to see a young man with distinctive red hair, dressed in second-hand clothes, carrying their paper supplies and wearing a broad grin._

_"How goes, Padre? Name's Jo, from Go West. Ken said you're kinda picky about who does your delivery, so he sent his very best." He held the box aloft on his shoulder, and Gabe heard Gage (always at his heels, like a clingy puppy) gasp. Probably thrilled at seeing anyone who could lift the heavy box with such ease. Gabe threw a glare over his shoulder and waited until the door to the sanctuary shut, before facing Jo again._

_"I'm Father Steele. You don't have to knock. These doors don't lock." He gestured behind him. "We're a homeless shelter, but we don't keep prisoners and we've never enforced a curfew. Next time, just walk in."_

_"Door's always open." Jo scratched his head with his free hand. "Got it…"_

Steele sighed, because damn it, even if Jo wasn't asking for help, he at least had to offer it. He turned and opened the door again, but Jo was long gone. Not even a strand of red coloring the dismal morning.

Jo ran back towards the east end of the quarter, not knowing where else to go or who else to turn to. He did think to stop at an ATM to deposit the cash, because fuck if he was just going to carry it around, but after that, the only things left in front of him were closed doors. He couldn't keep running circles through the city, he was already exhausted, wrung out, and he had nothing left to go on. He knew he needed somewhere to stop, to put his head down, to try to think, but the only place he could think to go was back to where he'd seen Benny living.

That was what he ended up doing. He saw lights still on in the house, the only house that looked at all alive on the slum row, and knocked on the door until Benny threw it open. He took Jo in with a flick of his narrow, bloodshot eyes and smirked. "You back already, Jojo? What happened, wife kick ya out?"

"Sick of his shit," Jo muttered, tossing his hair back as he shook his head. "I just need somewhere to sleep. You care if I do it here?"

"Mi casa, su casa, Jojo." Benny stepped aside. There wasn't much to the house but fading paint on cracked drywall that formed patterns like lines on a map to nowhere, nails where there might have been pictures once, and a ratty old rug. Benny had hauled a shitbox TV and a busted-up couch into the living room, and he'd gotten an XBox somehow or other, because Madden (or something that looked a lot like Madden) was flickering on a pause screen. Benny grabbed one of the pillows off the couch and put it on the floor, and gestured to the couch. Jo pulled his jacket and belt off and dropped them onto the floor, as Benny settled back down on the pillow and unpaused his game. Jo briefly entertained lighting up one more cigarette for the night, but he didn't see any ashtrays around. Benny probably wouldn't care if he ashed on the floor and stubbed out on the wall, but a gentle, chiding voice that lived in his head and heart now scolded him whenever he even considered ashing into a beer can or anywhere that wasn't an ashtray.

Jo tried to clear that voice out, tried to clear his head, but eventually let himself drop off into the racket from the TV and all the thoughts swirling around his brain.

He didn't dream.

Jo didn't wake until it was light again, bright but cold, to the roar of a familiar guitar riff. The TV was off, and Jo smelled cigarettes. He smeared the crud from his eyes and grasped for his phone, only to find it was past two and the noise was a phantom. He'd long since missed his old alarm. His body had just slept until it was done sleeping, maybe in a desperate attempt to purge the last twenty-four hours of his life. Hadn't worked. He still had a pocket full of dirty money (figuratively speaking), clouds over his head (ditto), and now he just had an empty stomach (literally) and the sensation of a hole somewhere in his chest. He wasn't sure what to do about any of them. He just had a general goal, but he'd staggered so far from it he wasn't sure how to get back.

He sat up slowly, and caught a strain of Benny's voice. He leaned after it, and spotted Benny pacing the kitchen, holding his phone to his ear and muttering into the receiver, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Jo then took in the decrepit state of the rest of the kitchen (bowls stacked with caked-on grime and a layer of dust, a blown-out stove, some sort of slime Jo didn't want to think about dripping from one of the cabinets, the sort of place where someone he knew would have clicked his tongue, intoned a dispassionate 'oh, my,' then rolled up his sleeves and made it wonderful and livable in an impossibly short amount of time), and figured there probably wouldn't be any food to be had there. At least there was still Benny. There'd be more money. He could buy food. He probably wanted to get the money in his account out, anyway.

He glanced down to his phone, and got just the idea. He dialed a familiar number, and heard a familiar voice on the other end.

"Go West, Aretha speaking."

Jo cleared his throat and tried to make his voice sound lower. "I'd like to make a payment on the Steele account."

"Uh, excuse me, but you're not the Father."

"Call it charity, Steele deserves it." Jo hung his head and dug out his card. He tried to talk as quietly as possible as he read his card number and routing information off, and listened, tensely, to the clicking of her fingernails on the keyboard.

"And your name?"

"It's Joel Sha."

Aretha was quiet for a second, Jo heard her hands fall still. "Jo? You sound like you've been shot, what's-"

"Just put it through." He hung up before she could say another word, just as Benny flounced in.

"Mornin', sleepin' beauty. You snore like a fucking tanker, y'know?" Benny grinned madly, but Jo didn't rise to it. "Well, now you've gotten your nap on, I got good news. We got another job, it's a big one, and the guy up top wants you with me."

"What is it?" Jo scratched under his arm, and realized just how filthy he felt. Benny didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in posturing, chest puffed out.

"We're escorting some bigwig to a job. Gotta play lookout. Sounds like an intimidation thing, but I'm told it's a big target." He cracked his knuckles. "We're talkin' Unification."

Jo sat up all at once, because holy shit. "What, for real? You told me-"

"Yeah, I did tell ya 'bout how the guys all tried to come together before, but it all fell out when G. Maoh got popped. It's happenin' again, bro, didn't I tell you?" His easy smile was broad, toothy, and menacing, and Jo got goosebumps up and down his arms. "This is how we get our city. We build an army."

"Yeah?" Jo managed to suppress his shakes and crossed his arms. "So, what's this intimidation job gonna do? I mean, what, we shake down some corner store for cash?"

"Eh, I dunno all the big details. Holy Man says we gotta clean house, so-"

"Holy Men?" Jo's surprise slipped, and he leaned forward. "You mixed up with them?"

Benny, to Jo's surprise, didn't actually respond. Instead, he took Jo's face in, stuffed his hands into his pockets, squeezed them tight, then sighed. "Jojo. Jojo, we're bros. You gotta know. It's a fairytale. The shit you tell kids to keep 'em in line. There's no Holy Men. Not really."

Jo's insides went cold, and he managed to raise an eyebrow. Outwardly, he might have looked nonchalant, but inside, his stomach and ribs were shaking down to pieces. "Then, who's-"

"Well, there's a lot of gray in it, but it's like this, Jojo. The Holy Man's the guy who's lining things up." Benny donned a broad, cocky grin, and hunched down, intimately close to Jo, conspiracy in his gaze. "So there's the man himself, and there's his watchers, shuttin' down guys who're off message or off-track, makin' sure everyone knows who's really in charge. Me?" Benny scratched his head, but pushed aside some of his hair in the process, revealing a new tattoo, a small red dot with a black target ring in the center. "I watch. Ya dig?"

Jo nodded, but his face had gone numb and a shout echoed in his ears:

_"I am the Holy Man!"_

"So who is the Holy Man?" Jo sank back against the couch. Benny shrugged.

"Tonight, Jojo. You're going in on my word, but he asked for you by name." Benny then grinned. "Look at you, big shit already. You ain't even marked. What say you an' me go have a brew, maybe get that fixed?"

"Nah, man, I'm still exhausted. This cold's givin' me a headache." Jo rubbed his head, because damn if it didn't hurt, but he was pretty sure it wasn't actually him coming down with something.

"Suit yourself. We'll be heading out a little after dark, so do what you want, but be back here by eight." Benny swaggered off, and Jo covered his face with his hands until he heard the front door rattle shut.

Weirdly, he didn't feel more alone without Benny there. His thoughts were company enough: his suspicions were bearing out. The brat screaming that he was the Holy Man (and that was what caught him, screaming he was  _the_  Holy Man as if there weren't any others), but he was probably just talked into being a patsy for the real Holy Man. Probably by the big dog himself. No, there was one guy running this show, tugging everyone else around by their strings, probably with fingers in every gang, watching, waiting, and pointing anyone out of line in the direction of their demise. It wasn't just an underground crew of badasses, it was a mastermind, and his loyal spies.

And now that he'd figured it out, he had nobody who would listen to him if he told them.

"Shit." He checked his phone. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing better to do with himself. He dropped back down onto the sofa to sleep again, but though he still felt exhausted, sleep wouldn't come. He faintly remembered it was his day to meet with Yana, but brushed it off and shut his eyes.

"I'm already a felon. Might as well be a fugitive too."

* * *

Harley bounced his knees, unable to get them still as he waited his turn outside of Daniel's office. He was early, but he had nothing better to do. Steele had taken one look at him, then pulled him aside and quietly told him that he was not going to be around Gage when he was clearly having an off day, and to go calm himself down and maybe call his therapist (though in significantly harsher terms). He walked around Founder's Park for a while, but everything seemed too bright, too loud. Looking at the playground made his eyes ache. He gave up and walked to the Correctional Building.

The door opened about twenty minutes early- twenty minutes, fourteen seconds, Harley had been counting them down- and Dan smiled wearily out at him. Nobody exited, but Dan opened a hand. "I didn't know you were here, man, I'm sorry. How 'bout you come in and make yourself comfy while I hit the head?"

Dan's office was cleaner than Harley could ever remember it being. No stacks of paper for his gaze to wander over, no tiny lines of text he could only just discern if he closed his bad eye. Nothing to really look at but the picture of the young boy on the wall. Dan returned after a minute, still smearing his hands off on his back pockets, to find Harley completely consumed in taking the photograph in from his position, clamped in the chair. "You seem a little out of it. You okay?"

Harley didn't want to answer that question. "Your office is different."

Dan huffed a little, a hand coming to scratch the back of his head, and he bumped the door shut. "Well, I've had a few more cases expunged. Got all the time in the world to catch up on paperwork. First time I've actually gotten it all done and cleared away in five years." Harley cringed, but nodded. Dan noticed the cringe, and crouched down. "You really don't seem yourself. What's goin' on?"

"N-nothing in particular." Harley managed a weak shrug, then pressed his hands between his knees to keep them from clasping and wringing. Dan frowned, leaning forward and down to study Harley's face, then sitting back.

"We have to talk about something, you know. Uh, how's that roommate of yours?"

A tremor ran all the way down Harley's spine, but he quietly admitted, "We're not on speaking terms. Can't communicate at all. But I haven't been home lately as it is." He wrung his fingers together. "A friend is in the hospital."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dan wasn't taking notes, hands folded on his lap, eyebrows wrought up with what might have convinced some was genuine concern. "Was it someone from the shelter?"

Harley nodded. "Yes, the priest's young ward. A pupil whom I've tutored." The words came easily, almost without permission, but when they reached his mouth, they came out disjointed and stammered. "Such a b-bright future. So sad. I only hope he can heal."

"What happened?"

"An accident."

Dan's neutral expression belied the inquisition in his cocked eyebrow. "You're being tight, Harl. It's makin' me a little itchy, but I know you're not the kind to act up. You been up to somethin'?"

"I've been alone in the apartment. I've been at the hospital with Gage. I haven't been anywhere I shouldn't be. I've been by myself." His hands were shaking, and he pressed his knees tighter together. "That's all. I have nothing to talk about. I don't want to talk about myself."

"Harley?" Dan was leaning in, and Harley dodged his gaze. "Seriously. Is something the matter?"

"We always talk about me." Harley swallowed, and managed to meet Dan's eyes for a fraction of a second, before dodging away again. "We never talk about you, Daniel. You know most of my horrible secrets, but I know nothing of you."

"I'm not the parolee here." Dan couldn't help a smirk, but still hung on the edge of his seat.

"I still feel so dreadful, that we only ever talk about me, but nothing of you. My r-roommate, it irked him that I divulged nothing of myself, and I've come to understand why." He rolled up from the chair and snatched the photograph off the wall. "This, for example. My roommate told me his parole officer has dozens of photographs of former parolees, but you only have this single memento." He dropped the photograph into Dan's lap. "Is this your childhood home? How old were you when this was taken? And isn't it strange to have only a photograph of oneself on one's wall?"

Dan, blinking back surprise, took the photograph into his hand. He studied it for a moment, then laughed quietly under his breath. "You've been sitting on that, huh? Ease up, man, we're cool, I can tell you." He held up the photograph again. "This isn't a photo of me. It's my house when I was a kid, but that's my kid brother." He actually chuckled, sitting back. "And all of Yana's photos were taken by me. I'm kind of a shutterbug, but this is the only photo I have left from when I first started taking photos."

"You have a younger brother? What does he do?"

"Had." Dan put the photograph down. "I haven't seen him since about six months after I took that." Harley fell completely still, his ear tipped towards Dan though his gaze was pinned to a point on the floor. "Long story."

"You seem to have time."

"Heh!" Dan shook his head. "It was an accident. We got separated when I got arrested, and that was the last photo I had of him on my camera at the time."

Harley lifted his face slowly, and somehow made eye contact with Dan. "You were..."

"Acquitted. Again, it was an accident. I don't talk about it all that much anymore." Dan shrugged, and his hand closed over the picture frame again. "I hit my mother with my car."

Harley's eyes widened, and a finger came to his lips for him to bite. "You..."

"It's funny, see, 'cause this is sort of why I was assigned to you." Dan laughed, and sat heavily against the back of his seat. "Similar histories with manslaughter and mental illness. I'll tell you." He drummed his fingers together, and Harley could nearly see him gathering his thoughts. "See, my mom, she was my mom, but not my brother's. She wasn't especially, y'know,  _well_ , and when she and my Dad split, I realized just how not-right she was." Dan shrugged his shoulders back, and Harley focused on him, listening intently. "Before they split, she'd beat on him and scream at him, only in Mandarin so our neighbors would know exactly how awful she thought he was, then act weirdly affectionate and sweet on him. He got so sick of it, he stopped coming home most nights, only calling me and apologizing. Then, he didn't come home at all, he sent divorce papers, and she escalated. She never laid a finger on me, but she just started trying to convince me my old man was a demon, that he didn't love me and that's why he wasn't calling the house, that sort of junk. I think I blocked most of it out." Dan shrugged to himself. "I was like nine, so I wasn't stupid, and had some friends in school, I saw how their parents were, so I knew this wasn't normal. My dad was able to call me a few times on their phones. He told me that Mom had disconnected our phone, that he loved me, she probably loved me too but was just having trouble taking care of herself, and that when he saw me again, he had a surprise for me. One day, though, six months after Dad left, Mom came home from court crying and told me that the demon was stealing me away. The cops came in right behind her."

"He won custody?"

"Weird, right?" Harley nodded, and Dan grinned. "Yeah, something was definitely wrong in her head, and the court probably figured it out. I looked it up later. She never saw a doctor, so I can only hazard a guess as to what it was. Borderline personality disorder, manic-depression, maybe a little psychosis for good measure. You see a lot of co-morbidity with borderline and other illnesses, from what I could tell." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "But I was still only nine. I was just kind of relieved I wouldn't have to live with her anymore. Trouble was, when the cops took me out, it was to the station, they told me my dad was picking me up. I ended up waiting eight hours."

Harley raised his palm to his lips, his fingernail well chewed off by now. "Oh dear."

"Nah, I mean, I doubted him for like twenty seconds, but it didn't matter, 'cause when he did show up, he was crying and apologizing, and just told me, 'you'll see, you'll see.' Then, he drove me to a hospital." Harley raised an eyebrow, but Dan grinned wide. "Walked me right into the maternity ward. That was the day I met my little brother."

_"Oh, you're back! Good timing, they just gave him to me." He was struck dumb at the sight of her. She was young, probably not even twenty, though he wouldn't quite put it together until later, but she was beautiful, broad smile, bright eyes, and lots and lots of dark red hair. "You must be the famous ######. Your Dad told me a lot about you." His gaze fell from her face to the bundle of blue blanket in her arms, and he spotted a tiny, chubby hand grasping at the ringlets that fell over her shoulder. He tiptoed closer, and looked in to see a healthy, apple-cheeked baby, with huge hazel-brown eyes, and a thick thatch of dark red hair just like his mother's. "This is your little brother..."_

"I was pretty sharp at math, and I knew it took nine months to make a baby, so I figured out why my Dad left Mom and I when he did, but thing is, I didn't care." Dan's grin softened, and Harley noticed he was holding the photograph in both palms, his thumbs tracing circles in the sepia sky. "I had a baby brother, I was living with my Dad again, and my stepmom was the nicest woman. We had a new life. It was great."

"Thing is, things were kind of tough for us. My Dad was a janitor at a high school, and he met her there." Harley quickly figured that he did not mean that they were coworkers, and nodded, and Dan sighed. "So, Dad had lost his job, and he was way in the hole from litigating with my Mom. My stepmom didn't have any family anymore, but apparently people knew her and what had gone down, because she got a lot of dirty looks in public." Dan sighed. "Sometimes worse. We were sort of on the border of Charleston and farm country-"

"Charleston?" Harley's eyes sparked.

"Mhm. Between living down South and learning to talk from my Dad, I kind of have a mixed-up accent, huh?" Dan grinned broadly at Harley, then back down at the photo. "But he sounded Shangri-La. He was born over there. And I looked very Shangri-La. Moving out to where my stepmom lived meant a lot more green for me and my little brother, but I heard a lot more nasty talk than I did living in Chinatown with Mom. Still, we were making do, and my Dad and stepmom treated us very well. They would go hungry if there wasn't enough to go around, and though we almost got evicted a few times, but we always got through somehow. Still, it didn't last. I was twelve when the first accident happened." Dan bit his lip, and his palm spread over the photograph in his hands. "I don't even know if it was an accident. Mom told me that my Dad realized what a piece he was, or gave up on scraping by, and drove into traffic. For me, I sometimes wondered if the people who gave my Dad and I dirty looks decided to take action. All I know is that the truck hit us, and my Dad and stepmom were dead before the paramedics could get them out." He paused, his gaze falling back down to the photograph. "My step-grandparents had no interest in us. I'd never met them, never seen them. But my Mom somehow proved competent enough to take me, and even offered to take my little brother."

Dan paused again, then sighed into his lap. "Except she treated my little brother awfully. I mean, she'd pull his hair and tell him he looked like, uh, in her words, 'that whore,' kicked him around, poisoned his brain. She dared him to tell anyone, because they'd send him to a group home where things would be even worse. It broke my heart, seeing him cowering in the closet sometimes, just to escape the insanity. I was still a kid, though, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, what was I supposed to do? She loved me like crazy, so I tried to calm her down sometimes, but..." Dan winced, then shook his head. "But I took it. For him. I loved my brother and did everything I could to make up for how she treated him, to make his life okay. He was my whole world." At this, Dan shot Harley a significant look over the edge of the frame and put on a wry smile. "Sound like anyone you know?"

Harley shuddered, but Dan turned back down to the photograph in his hands. "I started planning on running away, working, saving money, but it took me out of the house, so he just kept getting hurt whenever I was gone. And then, finally, I was driving home one day, and she's beating him in the middle of the road, and..." Dan trailed off, then shrugged helplessly. "I... it was an accident."

He looked back down at the photo, the little boy, the derelict house, and ran his thumb over both. "I took up photography as a class in high school, because taking pictures of plants and playgrounds was better than being at home, and I'd take my brother on shoots with me, all over the city. I had an assignment to take a photograph that summed up my life in a single shot, write an essay explaining it. This was what I took. Probably would have gotten an A if I'd ever turned it in." He chuckled, then put the frame down, face-down. "I actually got acquitted. Like I said, it was an accident, I was hardly seventeen, I lost control, I'd panicked, I walked free. First thing I did was go back and ask my neighbors where my brother was, and they told me he'd run away. One neighbor who knew us said she'd reported it to the cops, but they had lost track of him when he got to the bus station, hopped onto a Greyhound headed for New York, and then he was just in the wind." Dan gestured around him. "I chased him, ended up here, and got stuck, taken in by some people who sort of became my mother and brother. Rosie Maoh, and my best friend, Kenny." Harley noticed something change in his expression when he mentioned Kenny, but it vanished when he heaved himself up to a stand and took up the photograph. He set about hanging it up again, and stepped back, looking right into it as he finished. "Rosie got me to graduate high school here, then into college, and even started me with a person-finder. It's been ten years now, but I haven't given up."

"Do you think it's hopeless?" Harley observed the way Dan gazed at the photograph, longing disguised under his usual good humor. Dan shrugged in response.

"Not 'til I give up hope. He was my world, everything I lived for. I'm not giving up 'til I see a death certificate. I mean," and here he laughed, wearily. "How many Joel Shas can there be out there?"

Harley's breath stopped coming all at once, then he began to laugh. "Oh... oh gracious..." He laughed harder, unable to stop, as Dan turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. Harley was turning blue and wheezing, hugging his stomach, laughing hard, too hard to catch air.

"Not sure what's so funny, but... Uh, hang on." Dan pivoted for his desk and poured some water from his bottle into a plastic cup, and pushed it into his hands. Harley half-noticed, as he bowed over the fax machine on his desk, that his face was red. He slicked his hair back as Harley drank, and sank into his seat with the fax he'd received in hand- the drug test results. Dan frowned as he reviewed them. "Well, enough about me. Hope I satisfied your curiosity. Now, satisfy mine: why are your dye levels low?" He shook the papers. "I'm talkin' way low. Have you been skipping doses?"

Harley swallowed, and crumpled back into his chair. "Yes. I have to. I've lost my job. No insurance."

"Ah, hell, that Zack prick fired ya and didn't even call me?" Dan whuffed an exasperated little sigh and tugged at his hair. "No wonder you're so damn antsy. Okay, we're gonna work on this. There's a program for guys who need medicine to stay out but can't afford it. I'll get you on it 'til we can get you working again. We'll get you a new job, a better job, I'll help-"

"Help me like you did poor Jo?" Harley crushed the plastic cup in his hands. "I'm not your brother. In fact, I resent that you look at me as such."

Dan was wide-eyed, but quickly snapped back to a frown and set his shoulders back. "Hey, man, I only want to help. Someone's got to look out for you."

"He's gone," Harley whispered. "He's gone and never coming back. Why would he? Why bother?" He pulled his knees in and held his head. "This is what I deserve, isn't it? For everything I've done. And you were right. I'm seeing the world in brighter colors, and every color is red."

Dan felt his jaw fall as he observed what Harley had devolved to- the sophisticated, cold ghost now grabbing at his hair and gnashing his teeth like an imp. He crouched over Harley, bewildered, but spoke gently. "I know you know better. Even you must be feeling what not having your medicine is doing to you. Have you taken your meds today?" Harley shook his head. "You keep them on you?" This got a nod, and Dan stood back. "Show me." Harley, hand trembling, fished into his pocket for the pill bottles. They rattled in his hands, and Dan nodded at him, staring down from high above. "Take 'em. Now." Harley obediently poured one of each into his palm and pressed them into his mouth. Dan gave him another plastic cup of water. "Drink and swallow."

Harley obeyed. Dan watched his throat work and stepped back, his shadow receding from Harley's face, then took his notebook from his desk and jotted down a few notes. "I don't want you to go to jail. You're honestly one of the most decent guys I see on a week-to-week basis. You and me, we're gonna talk this out this time next week. I'll call you if I need any information for the paperwork, or if I get any good leads on jobs for you." Harley trembled where he sat, arms clamped around his curled-in legs again. Dan sighed, and closed his book. "You work on it too. Keep taking your medicine. And for god's sake, make nice with your roommate. I'm guessing he's been helping to keep you straight." Dan jolted when he heard an unfamiliar noise: Harley smothering a giggle into his palm. He crossed the room and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. He squeezed, and Harley silenced, because something in Dan's harsh posture told Harley, loudly, that Dan was trying not to throttle him. "I don't want you walking around seeing demons and your dead sister. You gotta keep your head clear if you're gonna get through." Harley nodded, and Dan thought he heard him mumble a 'thank you.'

Dan walked Harley to the door, left him with the encouragement that 'we're going to get through this,' and shut it behind him. The moment the latch clicked, Harley covered his mouth, worked the pills out from under his tongue and pushed them into his palm. They crumbled in his hand, and he crushed them completely and deposited the pieces into a potted plant, just as he heard footsteps approaching and turned to meet their source.

Jo, jogging towards him, brilliant red hair swishing around him like a flag, a hand raised, a genial smile, and the faint scent of musky deodorant and cigarette smoke. "Hey, did ya have a good talk with your PO? Or same ol', same ol'?"

Harley didn't respond, but instead smiled and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Jo was gone, no shadow, no scent.

"Strange," he mused aloud to himself. "I don't want to see Kathy, either."


	25. 23.5: Three on the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to comfort Ken, Yana and Ken reminisce about Ken's mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bonus chapter. We got a glimpse into Dan's backstory, but I wanted to cover Yana's and Ken's, as well. Plus, I wrote up Rosetta Maoh, and she's awesome, and you all deserve to know how awesome she is. Without further ado!

**23.5: Three on the Precipice**

With her last appointment for the day complete, Yana had been settling in to her paperwork when she noticed her phone flashing. She flipped the screen on, and felt a warm smile come to her and instantly hit the redial. The other end picked up before the first ring finished. "Yana, hey, I-"

"Danny, what's up?" She leaned back in her chair. Her fingers wandered up into her hair and twisted a lock around her index finger.

"Hey, how ya doin'?" Dan sounded a little breathless on the other end, and Yana frowned a little.

"Something wrong?"

"Just got off the phone with- sorry, sort of..." Dan groaned, and Yana winced, her shoulders falling.

"The person finder? Another lead fell flat?" Dan was quiet, and Yana could hear him rubbing at the wrinkles in his brow. She crossed her arms. "Danny, if you keep rubbing your elbows against your desk like that, you'll wear them out."

Dan actually chuckled at this, and she heard his chair creak as he sat back. "It's been a day. Look, you know my odd three-thirty? My ghost? You're still seeing his roommate, right?"

"In a manner of speaking." Yana felt her lips purse, but pushed the swell of disappointment from her voice. "Why?"

"I need to talk to him. My parolee's having a rough time of it, and he told me they weren't speaking. I thought I might speak with him and see if I can motivate a reunion of sorts."

"Oh Danny, I can't, you know I can't. We'd both lose our jobs."

"I really need to talk to him." She heard Dan lean forward again, and sighed off the receiver. Dan was so good at acting warm and relaxed for his parolees, only getting tense when he had someone who he felt safe in releasing tension.

"I wish I could let you. Honestly, I wonder if you and I shouldn't switch parolees." Yana released her hand from her hair, then tucked the loose strands back behind her ear. "I tried to call mine earlier myself. He missed his appointment. He's never missed one before. But he didn't pick up."

Dan sighed deeply, his voice heavy and hard. "So mine's gone off the rails, and he's no better. All this, all our parolees getting expunged, and the crime rate climbing like a goddamned rollercoaster. I don't even wanna see where this is gonna drop us. I feel like the world's gone crazy."

"I know." Yana cradled the phone to her ear, wishing she could reach through the phone and give Dan some kind human contact, but Dan had never quite liked hands on his face or back. "Look, maybe we just need to get our minds off work. Have you heard from Kenny lately?"

"He's texted me back a few times, said things are rough and he can't talk about it right now."

"Hmm. I'll call him, and we can all meet up tomorrow night."

"We'll see." Dan sounded disbelieving, but he murmured a farewell, which she warmly returned before hanging up. She then dialed Ken. His phone rang four times, then went to the voicemail.

"I swear to God, Kenny." She hung up before the voicemail started recording, but almost as soon as she did, her phone rang again, and she answered. "Hello?"

"It's me!" Lily's strident voice echoed back. "It's been forever! You been busy, Yana?"

Yana giggled. "Not as much as I'd like, sweetie. How have you been? How's school?"

"Eh." Yana could clearly see Lily scrunch her nose as clear as if she was in front of her. She'd known her since she was barely in kindergarten, she knew exactly what Lily was like on the phone and in conversation. "Science isn't as much fun as it was last year. It's all about cells and not as much about animals."

"Just be patient, you have to start with the little things first." Yana pinched her fingers. "And what's littler than cells?"

"Ions!" Lily laughed raucously, and Yana giggled along with her. "Are you stuck on little things too?"

"Something like that." Yana exhaled slowly, but before she could try to brush Lily off and away from that topic of conversation, Lily jumped tracks.

"Kenny says he's stuck on nothing. I ask him what's wrong, over and over, he says 'nothing.' And he si-i-ighs--" Lily groaned, imitating her brother's tone-- "And he's all sulky, and he's making more wrinkles in his face, and every time the phone rings, he jumps! He's been meaner, too, and then he gets all mad at himself--" Yana heard the soft creak-creak of Lily rocking from foot to foot. "I don't get it, he's too upset for it to be nothing. Then I thought, maybe it's nothing he wants to tell me. So, do you think maybe he might tell you?"

Yana blinked a few times, taken aback with surprise. Lily spoke fast, her mouth trying hard to keep up with her meandering mind, and though everything she said made sense, it took Yana a moment to catch up. Then, she realized Lily was giving her just what she wanted. "I'd love to talk to Kenny, but he won't pick up his phone when I call."

"Oh!" Lily's phone jostled, rattling in Yana's earpiece. "Hang on!" There were thumps, a clatter, and Yana faintly heard Lily: "Here, it's for you!" She heard a few more bumps in the background, the thump of a door shutting, then a quiet sigh.

"Sorry about her."

"Kenny. She's not what you should apologize for and you know it." She crossed her arms, as Kenny's low, deep voice reached her with another sigh. "So, what's gotten into you? You don't actually answer any of our texts, since both Dan and I have been trying to reach you, but you just brush us off. I'm getting awful lonely at aikido without either of you to throw around. Lily's worried too, so I'm not imagining things. What's going on?" She trailed off, waiting for anything, but the silence she got in return was as unnerving as anything he could have said. "Kenny..."

Ken grunted, and Yana heard him struggle to string the words together. "You ever just... look at your life and wonder how you got there? Like, how things got to where they were, and how you just get so stuck in what you're doing, because it works, and then when something gets thrown askew, it just messes you up?"

"Oh, Ken, is your college boyfriend calling you again?" Yana groaned. "I know he always get you angsty, but you know he's dirt."

Ken was quiet, then he actually managed a weak chuckle. "You're psychic. He's not even what's got me..." Ken heaved another sigh. "If only he was the worst of my problems. Don't worry, I'm not tempted. He's all up and excited over some money he came into, inviting me off to Vegas with him when it rolls in, and he totally won't sleep with the showgirls, and if we end up in front of Elvis with a marriage license, he won't tell anyone."

"I'm surprised you still use him. I'm surprised he's not on your list of persona-non-grata."

"Can't do that." Ken shifted (Yana heard the suede of his chair rustle, could almost see him slumped in his office with the lights low like he did when he was moping), and he heaved another deep sigh just off the receiver. "I'd feel... I'd just feel guilty asking anyone but him for tech help. He might have been a piece of shit when we were dating... Jesus, the good old days, when I could actually get a boyfriend." He snorted. "Or a girlfriend. Anyone who'd give me the time of day."

"There's always me and Danny, Ken." Yana felt her hand come up to her heart. It always ached and squeezed when she knew Ken was this down. Then again, it ached just the same whenever she thought about Ken too long. "We're worried. I get worried when you start saying those sorts of things. I mean, saying things like, you don't know how you got here. You're not in such a bad place, are you?" Ken was quiet; Yana could scarcely hear him breathing. "Your mom fought hard to help get you there."

At this, Ken sniffed. "Right, but even so..."

"Kenny." Yana crossed her arms and glared down into the phone. Ken groaned.

"I know! Life just used to be... so much simpler."

"I know." She cradled the phone. "Ken, it's only been six years. I know you still miss her. I still miss her. You were her prince, and she was your pillar- all of our strengths." She let her head fall, let herself fall into commiseration and memories. "She's the reason either of us are here."

_Yana recalled her first school day in Chance Harbor. She remembered being forced to wear hot, heavy clothes, a long skirt and sweater, which obscured most of her body but for her face, and keeping her head low. She remembered other students snickering at her as she wandered through the dim constriction of a public school hallway. She had left her last school a veritable pariah, and it seemed that even in a new middle school where her father hadn't assaulted a teacher, her life would be just the same._

_She remembered walking home best, because she soon realized that one of her classmates was walking close behind. She took one look at him, and her face burned. He was too cute! Too cute for his own good! She'd been watching him since homeroom, and they shared four classes, and she was starting to worry she was mooning too obviously because her cheeks went pink every time he raised his hand. (Thank God he hadn't noticed!) He was tall, tan, with red hair loose at his already-broad shoulders, his button nose stuck to the inside of a book. She would have talked to him if she weren't worried her father hadn't already told every single one of their neighbors to watch who she was talking to. He had warned her he was watching. She had no reason not to believe him._

_"Hey." She stumbled when she realized he had spoken, and jumped to see he'd folded his book partway and lowered it, and he managed a timid smile. "Uh, you're new, right? I'm Ken."_

_Yana stammered a moment, her teeth clumsy against her thin tongue, and finally covered her cheeks and managed a timid, "My dad says not to talk to boys."_

_"Oh." He frowned (and oh God why did he have to be so cute when his eyebrows bunched up?) and took a step back. "If you're sure."_

_She winced, because he'd lifted his book back to his face. Now he was_ _ adorable _ _but completely unattainable and in class with her for the rest of the year and he'd never talk to her again, but maybe that was for the best. Oddly enough, though, he waited at the end of her sidewalk when she trudged up the door to her house and reached for her key. All she found, however, was an empty pouch in her backpack, and she dug through the rest of it, gasping at every zipped pouch devoid of her housekey. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"_

_"What's the matter?" She realized Ken had approached again, hands on his knees over her, and fell back onto her legs in an awkward split._

_"I... ah... my key..." She bowed her head. "I forgot my key and now I can't get in! My dad won't be home for another four hours, and I'll get in so much trouble if my folks find me just waiting outside, so--"_

_"Do you have a cell phone?" She shook her head, and he puzzled and rubbed the back of his head. "Me neither. Come on, you can come to my house and use our phone." He held a hand out to her, and she turned pink again, tentatively lifting one hand._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"For sure." Ken cracked another (way too cute, Yana wasn't sure she hadn't melted on the spot) smile. "My mom says to help people who need help."_

_Ken escorted Yana a few blocks east and north to a three-story rowhouse next to a garage, with a few maroon cars parked out front. The door wasn't locked, and Ken quickly pointed out the bathroom and where she could hang her backpack, then showed her to the phone. He graciously stayed in the other room as she dialed the mall where her father worked as a security guard, then the laundromat where her mother worked, but the mall couldn't get her father to the phone and the laundromat didn't pick up. "It's no good," she told Ken in a timid whisper when he peeked in on her. "I guess... if you don't mind..."_

_"Did you understand any of the questions for today's Honors Algebra homework?" Ken reached into his backpack and took his textbook out. "I think I kinda got it, but maybe if we both looked at it, it'd be easier."_

_Fifteen minutes ago, Yana had worried she'd never be able to talk to the boy of her dreams. Now, she was doing homework with him._

_It was about thirty minutes later the door opened and shut again, and a deep sigh settled through the house. "Sweetie, I'm home!" Yana turned from the stiff wooden kitchen chair to see a shapely shadow in the door, as Ken's mom entered. She wore a skirt to her ankles, maroon and black (and which Yana learned was a favored style). Her long black hair was all pinned up in a sloppy bun, her makeup was simple but immaculate, and when she stopped at the door to take her shoes off, Yana realized they were combat boots. She had a stern air about her, but a soft smile for her son. "How was school, baby?" Ken dutifully bowed his head when she kissed his hair._

_"Just fine." He gestured across the table. "This is Yana, she's in class with me. Can she stay 'til her folks get home? She forgot her key."_

_Ken's mother snapped her focus over to Yana, and Yana could almost feel her dissolving her with a laser-sharp gaze. Then, she smiled. "It's nice to meet you." She thrust her hand out. "I'm Rosetta Maoh." Yana timidly took and shook her hand, and Rosetta released her gently. "You can call me Rosie. Kenny doesn't bring home friends very much. In fact, I think you're the first one. Be nice to him, okay?"_

_"Mom." Yana noticed that Ken's cheeks had turned ruddy like rust, and he tugged at his collar. Rosetta laughed under her breath, a warm, molasses-thick sound, and patted Yana's shoulder._

_"Any friend of Ken's is family." Yana felt Rosetta pull her collar aside, and tried not to look at the purple bruise hidden under her hair. She saw Rosetta's gaze travel to it, then back to meet her eyes. "You're always welcome here, okay?"_

"I guess it was lucky that she liked you, but you really were my first friend." Ken was smiling, which was progress, as far as Yana could tell. "She liked you for that anyway."

"I have a feeling I'm lucky for that alone." Yana eased back into her chair. "Hearing how she talked to some of her employees?"

Ken chuckled. "Mom had claws. But I guess that's kind of what you meant..."

_Yana ended up at Ken's door more times than she ever intended. She didn't want to go home some days, so she would "forget her key" and end up at Ken's door. Ken was always happy to have company, and Rosetta would greet Yana with warmth and genuine concern for her welfare. After about three weeks where Yana was at her house three of every five school days, Rosetta took Yana's shoulder while Ken was out of the room, if only to confide:_

_"Kenny said your dad was a bit strict about you talking to boys, but you can always talk to me, alright?"_

_Ken only knew that Yana would sometimes come over some nights just to talk to Rosetta, shut up in her office, and visit with Ken only for a few minutes. Rosetta would tell Ken, "We're just talking about girl stuff," then pinch his cheek._

_It was when Yana showed up at their door during their second year of high school with tears in her eyes that Ken realized it was much more than that. She had an envelope in her shaking hand, and before Rosetta could usher her up into her office, Yana spilled it all out. "I applied and was offered a scholarship. I was going to start taking college courses. My... my father got the mail first." She sobbed, and Ken hurried to bring her a tissue. "He... he got so angry... He said he'll send me to Chicago, to marry a friend of his. I... I don't know what to do!" She sobbed, and Ken grabbed her arms and held her tight._

_"It's gonna be okay!" She cringed, and he realized he'd inadvertently shoved her sleeves up to reveal thin red welts across her forearms, as if struck by a cane or a switch. He immediately dropped her arms and turned around to Rosetta. "Mom, we—"_

_Rosetta held up a finger to Ken, her steel-gray eyes set and lingering on Yana, and her phone already at her ear. "We're going to fix this, sweetie." She turned on her heel. "Mr. Nenevich? Yes, my name is Rosetta Maoh, I'm a friend of your daughter." She paced slowly towards her office, red-satin lips pursed, her skirt slinking around her legs with each deliberate motion. She was the very embodiment of a steel fist under a velvet glove, and even Ken shivered at her chilled tones. Yana grabbed onto his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. "Yana will not be coming home to you tonight. Or ever again. You will not be shipping her out of state. You will not stifle your child's future, no matter what your reasoning. I am going to ask you, politely, to cease all contact with your daughter. You will hear from my lawyer shortly." Yana heard her father wind up into a tirade on the other end of the line, but Rosetta hung up and immediately dialed again. The phone picked up, and Rosetta was exactly as cool but nowhere near as livid when she spoke this time: "I'd like to make a report of child abuse."_

_Ken urged Yana to sit and made her a cup of cocoa as Rosetta made a non-emergency report. She sat across the table from Yana once she was done and took her hand. "Tomorrow, we're going to file emancipation papers. I'd like to take some photographs of your bruises. I'm sorry to force the issue, but someone had to save you." She squeezed Yana's hand. "I'm going to need your help, okay?"_

_"Okay," Yana sniffled, and Ken handed her another tissue._

_"I wish I'd known." He shivered, and patted her back as she dried her tears. "I'll never let him hurt you again."_

"I still can't believe just how strong she was when she told my father off, but looking back, I don't blame her." Yana drained her teacup, but winced at the aftertaste. Sometimes, she wondered if she was as good as brewing poison with her tea blend experiments. It didn't stop her from rising to make another cup. "The guy my father said he was selling me off to- Ekato Ysidro- I later heard he was arrested as a leader in the Hand of Isis gang." Yana shivered, even with the warm cup in her hand. "I dodged a bullet. You and your mom saved my life."

"We only did what was right, and really, it was all her."

"You helped."

"It's not so hard to be a decent person." Ken sounded, at the very least, less depressed on the other end, as Yana returned to her office chair and relaxed into it again. "Mom made sure I knew that. She wanted make sure I saw the world the way she did, and understood why she was how she was. That's probably why she insisted all her employees do volunteer work once a month... and me, every Sunday."

_"But Mom, I wanted to go play soccer in the park with some guys!" Ken groaned, in the dying-whale way that only twelve-year-old boys could, as Rosetta escorted him from her little maroon sedan up the steps to K-One River Mission._

_"You can play soccer on Saturdays." Rosetta did not release the vice grip she had on Ken's arm even as she knocked on the door. "I think you're old enough to gain some understanding of how the world is outside of your backyard."_

_Ken moaned again, just as the door opened and a fair-haired main in a priest's cassock answered, and his pale eyes sparked with delight. "Rosie!"_

_"Connor!" Rosetta leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and he clasped her hand._

_"Always a pleasure to see you! And this is your boy?" Connor crouched a little then held a hand out to Ken. Ken, reticent but knowing better not to be impolite in front of his mother (because she would pull his ears out until he looked like an elf), accepted and shyly shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Ken."_

_"Mhm." He shrank back, and Connor waved them in._

_"Rosie, would you like to step into the kitchen?"_

_"Oh, you don't want that, not unless you want me to poison your tenants. I'm lucky Ken's figured out Hamburger Helper." Rosetta laughed and put a hand on Ken's back to usher him forward, and Connor followed them in._

_"Resume building it is. And for young mister Ken, my ward is cleaning the bathrooms, perhaps the two of them will get along?"_

_"We can certainly find out." Rosetta leaned down next to Ken's ear. "Be nice."_

_Rosetta ushered Ken to a row of showers, where a boy a few years younger than Ken was scrubbing the walls with a long handled broom, donning an oversized shirt knotted at his waist and pants hiked up into culottes. He took Ken in with a languid stare, then returned to brushing down the tiles. Connor, however, gave Ken a gentle push in his direction._

_"Corey, this is Ken. Ken, Corey. Corey will tell you what to do."_

_"It's Gabe," he muttered, and continued scrubbing. "There's spare clothes in the closet in the hall if you don't wanna mess yours up."_

_Ken blinked a few times. "Uh. Thanks, then, Gabe." He trudged off towards the indicated closet, and he faintly heard Connor talking to Rosetta as they departed:_

_"He's so serious, for a ten-year-old."_

_"Eight. I don't mind! It's actually terribly cute when he gets grumpy."_

_Gabe grunted and scrubbed a little harder, as Ken rejoined him with an old tee a few sizes too big on. He gestured to a bucket and a spare brush. "The floors. Get good around the drains."_

_"Sure." He got down on his hands and knees, as directed, with a scowl directed in the general direction of the floor and his mother._

_They worked in silence, until the room was clean, and Gabe quietly thanked Ken: "You did good work. Thank you for coming." It was too awkward, to have a boy a head shorter than him staring up into his face while talking down to him._

_"My mom made me." Ken couldn't help a petulant sulk._

_"Whatever." Gabe's gaze fell, and his voice dropped to a mumble. "If she makes you come back, maybe we can do it again sometimes. I'll do the floors, and you can do the walls. We can switch. I think I'd like that."_

_Ken wondered how many people had been treated to Gabe's "courtesy," because he got the feeling it wasn't a lot._

_When he went looking for Rosetta, he found her on a laptop with a printer, talking to a shabby-looking man, missing both front teeth and the ring finger on his right hand, who could barely string together two words in English. She patiently, slowly spelled out everything she was asking in clumsy Cantonese, then translated it into simple words, the way she used to speak to him when he was a child. He watched as she, grueling to comprehend, typed something for the man, then handed it to him. He understood just enough of what she was saying to catch, "Library on Kennedy at Fourth. Make copies. They will let you do it free if you say you need a job." She waved on the next, but before Ken could watch a moment longer, someone tapped his shoulder, and he jumped a foot, and had to catch himself when he saw it was only Connor._

_"Didn't mean to surprise you!" He laughed, and crouched again to take Ken's shoulder. "If you want to watch you may, but if you're bored, I could put you to work in the kitchen."_

_Chopping onions was better than being bored._

_When Rosetta deigned to be finished for the day, Ken shuffled to the car with a sulk that could curdle milk. Rosetta put her arm around his shoulder, smiling through her exhaustion. "What do you think, sweetie?"_

_"About the shelter?" Ken wrinkled his nose. "I don't see why we have to help. Nobody's ever helped you and me."_

_Rosetta's fingernails dug into his shoulder, and she abruptly stopped and turned him to face her. She forced him to meet her eyes with a hand on his chin. "It's because nobody's ever helped us that we have to help. Ken, when you and I set out on our own, we nearly were homeless. It's not even true that nobody helped us. It was a stroke of luck and assistance from Connor that kept a roof over our heads back when I left your father, and nobody else would or could help us. But as little as we have, at least we have it." Her thumb caressed his cheek in a gentle motion that clashed with the ice in her expression. "If all we can give the less fortunate is our time, then they deserve it."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because we all get something from someone, sweetheart." Rosetta caressed his cheek, the ice melting, and Ken realized he hadn't seen her wearing this soft, wistful expression in a very long time. "People share everything, space, air, this city, we make each other's worlds. We all take from each other. That's what life is. These people, they're people who've had everything taken from them and no chance to take back. It's our duty to give what we can, because nobody else will."_

"It was a good experience, in the long run. It's how I met Gabe, anyway, and I wouldn't have known Connor Steele had done my mom a favor back then." Yana heard Ken's chair creak. "But it makes sense."

"I suppose." Yana swirled the honey in her cup, frowning through the steam. "Is... is that where you met Dan, too?"

"No, I thought I told you--"

"I don't think you have, no. I just came home one day, and there he was with his head over a bowl and your mother delousing him." She smiled wryly. "After that, I just didn't ask."

"Oh." Ken chuckled sheepishly. "Well, Dan was homeless when we met him, but we met him outside. It's funny, almost; I lured him in by accident, and Mom sprung the trap."

_Ken's high school soccer team was just letting out of their meet in the south end of Founder's Park, and Ken was shaking the sweat from his hair. He could still faintly hear his mother talking with the coach, just in earshot, so he wasn't too nervous going to the main walk of the park under the eyes of a few scattered panhandlers to find a water fountain. He was bent over the fountain when it happened._

_Someone seized the collar of his jersey, and before Ken could react, someone grabbed him against his chest and squeezed. Ken choked and cried out, waiting for his feet to leave the ground, but heard a gasping voice crying into his ear. "It's you! It's really you! Thank God, you're alright, you're alive!" A big hand ruffled through his hair, and Ken struggled, just as a dense, bony hand seized his chin and tilted his head up, letting Ken look directly at the face of his assailant._

_He hadn't expected to see tears streaming down his face, and the man let go and stumbled back, clapping both hands over his mouth. "Oh... oh, God..." He was a big guy, not the kind who looked like he would cry in public. His face was unshaven, black hair overgrown, broad chest hollow under a ragged jacket, and he dropped to his knees. "I... I am so sorry... just, your hair, I..."_

_Ken felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, and she turned Ken to face her. "Are you okay, honey?" Ken swallowed, but nodded, and Rosetta immediately whipped back around to the man. "Care to explain yourself?"_

_"I..." The man stammered, and put his palms on the ground. "I thought... he was someone else, someone I lost... From behind, he... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." He sobbed, and Ken cringed on the man's behalf at all the people staring at the scene. "I'll... I'll just stay here, just like this, if you want to call the cops."_

_Rosetta took him in, then crouched down. "How old are you?"_

_"Nineteen, ma'am."_

_"Did your parents kick you out?"_

_"D-dead." He held his hands up. "I didn't... know..."_

_Rosetta pursed her lips and considered him, before settling on a scowl. "Get off the ground!" She seized him by the back of his shirt and yanked him up. Standing, he was much taller than her, but he shrank when she wagged her finger at him. "What an embarrassment! A strong young man like you wasting away like this, losing your mind in a public park!" She seized his ear, but Ken spoke up:_

_"Who are you looking for?" The man flinched at the question._

_"My baby brother," he whispered. "He ran away. I've been looking... two years..."_

_Ken pursed his lips, then sighed. "Mom, can we not call the cops on him?"_

_Rosetta frowned, and glowered up at the man. "I was going to invite him home for dinner. When's the last time you ate?"_

"After we picked him up, Mom took him into her office and locked the door. They talked for a solid hour, but I still have no idea what was said. When she came out, she told me his name was Dan, that he was going to live with us for a while. It was pretty crowded when you moved in, too, and then Lily a few months later, but it wasn't too bad." Ken actually chuckled, a relief to Yana: Ken was getting out of the dark places in his head and back to where he could laugh. She chose to giggle along.

"I remember how jealous you were that he got homeschooled by your mother!"

"Well, he wasn't going to make up the year of high school he missed unless she did." Ken huffed, but there was a smile behind it. "I remember how shocked I was that she somehow swung a full-ride scholarship for him. The two of them must have scoured for different entries for hours, and I don't think Dan slept for three weeks. I have no idea how many essays she wrung out of him."

"I do." Yana rolled her eyes. "You were the only one of the three of us she saved for, so I got the same treatment just two years after that, and she still made you bust your hump to earn your way through. Still, she showed us how to work the system." Yana sat back again and rested her hand over her heart. "We were so lucky we had her. The three of us lived on a precipice, and she was the one who kept us from toppling into ruin. So many other kids like us, no family, no resources, we would have just fallen through the cracks, ended up in whatever jobs you can get when you're poor and uneducated, or worse."

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Something had come into Ken's throat, something not hard, but very dense. "Mom fought every step for us. If she hadn't, then... I don't want to think what would have become of the three of us. Probably the same as most of the other Shangri-La kids out there, in dead ends. Nobody should have to fight as hard as she did, but damn if she didn't." Ken fell silent. Yana could almost feel him rubbing at his closed eyes, pressing them back as if he could push everything else back in. "Sometimes, I wonder if that wasn't why..."

"Kenny, no..."

_Yana knew something had been wrong when Ken glanced at his phone in the middle of their 300-level literature discussion, rushed to the front of the hall to talk to their professor, then ran out. She only knew what it was when she got a text from him at the end of class: "Mom's in the hospital. They won't let me see her."_

_Yana drove herself and Dan to Mercy, only to find Ken arguing with two of Rosetta's deliverymen in the lobby. "... trying to find out why you didn't call me sooner!"_

_"We told you, she dropped out of the blue! She was in the middle of reamin' us out, and suddenly she foams at the mouth and eats concrete!" Ken turned purple, and Yana and Dan darted across the room to intervene._

_"Kenny." Yana took Ken's shoulders, and found that his cheeks and eyes were red. Dan put himself between the deliverymen and Ken. "What's going on?"_

_"Rosie collapsed in the office," one of the couriers volunteered._

_"She's too young," Ken squeaked, and held Yana tight. "What if... what if..."_

_"Ken," Dan interrupted firmly, glancing back to him with coal embers in his gaze. "Don't think like that."_

_An orderly retrieved them after a moment, and Ken rushed in at the head of the pack and dropped to his knees at her bedside. She rolled her eyes and patted his head. " Sweetheart, I fainted. I just got a little lightheaded, don't panic." She then pinched his cheek. "Why'd you leave school?"_

_"I was worried." Ken grabbed and squeezed her hand. Lily, not yet ten, cringed in the door with Yana at her back. "What happened?"_

_"The ER doctor said I was concussed, but because I was so confused when I woke up, they gave me an MRI." She tapped her head. "I was just a bit disoriented from waking up somewhere strange. I'm sure it's nothing."_

_It was then that a doctor cleared his throat from behind the crowd gathered at the door, and asked all but Rosetta's immediate family to leave. The door was shut, but Yana, Dan, and everyone heard Ken shout, as a fainting spell turned into a brain tumor._

_Ken told them later, hunched over a too-small hospital cafeteria table, shaking and pale, that Rosetta had two months to live. "She had been having headaches, but she thought it was just stress. This seizure was just the first sign she got that it had gotten worse." He sobbed dryly into his coffee, though Dan patted his shoulder and Yana clasped his hand. They'd left Lily with Rosetta, so that he could vent without burning her ears, but he was crumbling to ash before their eyes, his voice cracking. "It's... it's inoperable. And she refused chemo."_

_"What?!"  
_

_"Why?"_

_"She said it'd be too expensive, even with her insurance." Ken smeared at his eyes, revealing only hard anger underneath. "She said, 'I could live another year or two, maybe, but is that year worth taking all of my son's savings and driving us into debt?' She said it wasn't. I begged her! I'd rather she live than I graduate!" Ken sobbed again, this time spilling tears onto cheeks already chapped and stained with salt. "She slapped me."_

_Rosetta agreed only to take basic medication, which she knew would only delay the inevitable, as Ken doubled down on his studies. It was as if he thought that by getting the college degree she wanted for him and his future, he might find an answer to his woes within. She survived three months, and attended his graduation in a wheelchair, because she couldn't stand anymore._

_She spent the last two weeks of her life in hospice, sunken to her bed in a daze, and Ken never left her side. West Side was run by cellphone from the lobby, with understanding from every single one of Rosetta's employees. Yana and Dan, both already busy with their Master's programs, came whenever they could, Gabe and other longtime volunteers from the shelter, couriers and others who knew them, always offering comfort and condolences, but though Ken forced a smile for visitors, when he was alone with the friends he trusted most, he was broken. He had confided to Yana that watching his mother lose her faculties, the use of her legs, the dexterity of her fingers, and soon patches of her memory, watching her waste away was like watching her turn to stone._

_The pain was no deterrent for him. He clasped her hand and talked to her, reminding her of all the good times he could remember with her, playing simple games of checkers when her hands weren't shaking so hard she refused to pull them out from under the covers. When the end was there, though, all four of them gathered around her to see her off. Ken wept like a child at her bedside, grabbing her hand, as the rest of her family bore witness, Yana crying into Dan's shoulder, Lily huddled in a corner with her arms tight to her chest._

_"I never... never thought about what life would be like after you." He dried his eyes on her sheet, as she took him in with cloudy, unfocused eyes. "I... I'd thought you'd be here forever, right behind me. Not forever, but at least a little longer. Come to my wedding, met your grandchild, if I ever had children."_

_"Don't worry about that, Kenny." Rosetta wove her fingers into his hair. He'd forgotten to cut it since she'd gotten sick, and it was long past his ears now. She didn't seem to mind. "I'm not going to regret those things. I loved the time I spent with you, and I trust you'll lead the rest of your life with all the strength I've watched you grow. You'll be a wonderful father and husband someday."_

_Ken winced. His gaze flashed back at Dan and Yana for a moment, then back to her. "M-Mom. I... I want you to know. Those things might not happen for me. I... I'm not sure I want to marry a woman. I might want to... to be with a man. I might not have children. I hope you're okay with it." He hung his head, and Yana took and squeezed Dan's hand._

_Of course Ken would come out now. She deserved to know, even if she wasn't expecting it. Still, he had never had anything to fear from her._

_Rosetta, ever the picture of grace under duress, hummed into a soft chuckle, and squeezed Ken's scalp. "That's fine, too. I just want you to live happily. Be who you are, because I have raised a wonderful son, and brought up four amazing children under my roof, and that is my proudest accomplishment." She smiled, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Make me proud, darling. It was an honor to be your rock. Go and be that for all of those who depend on you. You're the sun and moon in my sky, my little prince, and your life will be brilliant." She kissed his forehead, then sank back, too weak to hold herself up any longer. "Love your sister, your friends, everyone, the way I've loved you."_

_She closed her eyes for the last time less than an hour later. Ken stood up from his mother's deathbed with his teeth gritted and his fists clenched, and turned around to face the world with all of her strength in him._

"It still haunts me," Ken admitted. Yana searched her desk blindly for a tissue box, her eyes wet at the very thought. "In a way, I have her ghost still hanging off of me, but knowing she'd want me to be strong helps push me forward. She gave all of us what we needed to move forward... almost. She only gave Lily me. I still wonder if I'll be enough for her..."

_Ken, Yana, and Dan were all working on homework after dinner, when there was a sharp knock at the door. Rosetta frowned behind her laptop and stopped only to save her work, before the doorbell began to ring over and over, incessantly. She huffed after the thirtieth solid second of uninterrupted noise, and Ken was compelled to join her as she marched to the door. She reached it first, and Ken stood at her shoulder as she flung the door open and glared out._

_And glare she did, directly into the face of a beautiful woman in expensive clothes wearing an ugly expression. She thrust her arms forth, sending a tiny little girl stumbling into Rosetta's legs. "You. You like my husband's whelps. I can't stand this one a second longer!" She seized the girl by the hair. "Lily, you live here now." With that, the woman marched away, with Rosetta, for perhaps the first time in her life, too stunned to speak._

_Ken, of course, was right there with her. Even Lily, orange pigtails askew and tottering under the weight of a suitcase that stood at her shoulders, was confused._

_"Mama?" She turned, and Rosetta shut the door, because the woman's car was already peeling out with a scream of tires and a roar of overpriced engines. Recovering as quickly as ever, Rosetta crouched down next to Lily._

_"Mama's going to be gone for a little while. You can stay here with me, okay?" Rosetta took and clasped Lily's hand. "Your name is Lily, right? How old are you?"_

_Lily held up five fingers, but her head was tipping around as her gaze roamed the modest little foyer. Finally, her eyes locked onto Ken, and her chubby face spread in a broad grin. "Ooh, you're cute!" She took a step towards Ken, winking in a way that a girl her age should not have known, and put her hand on his thigh. "What can I do for you?" Ken turned bright red, and instinctively slapped her hand away._

_"Stupid! I'm your brother! That's not how you talk!"_

_Rosetta, for the second time in her life, was utterly lost for words. She scooped Lily up in both hands like one would a puppy. "Okay, sweetie, why don't you come with me? We're going to have a very long talk about everything."_

"That awful woman stuffed Lily's entire life into a suitcase and dropped her on us, just to make us pick up the pieces." Ken was grimacing. Yana could hear it. "Whatever behaviors she learned, however that woman learned to work people and that Lily had to watch, ten years of therapy haven't completely broken her of it. And of course, not even six months after the custody papers were signed, the witch realizes she could use Lily, parading her out to drum up sympathy for her cause, and the phone calls never stopped. I wonder if that, the stress of taking care of me and her, and running her own little empire didn't..."

Ken sighed again, and Yana cringed. "Kenny..." She could read Ken's every expression from his voice- more than ten years of pining and worshiping in silence built that in her- but she still couldn't reach down the line and put her hands on his face to lift his spirits, or seize his collar to pull him back from the ledge. All she had now was talk. "She wouldn't want you living in misery, with the memory of losing her over your head."

"I know, I know, it's just... it's like she's always there, in the back of my mind, but I can't hear her anymore. When things get hard, I don't know what to do. All I have left is the after-image, trying to think of what she would do is as good as visiting her grave. Worse, the things she did leave me with... I'm never strong enough." Ken's voice was shaking now, and Yana launched up from her chair in an instant.

"I'm coming over. Right now. I don't care if you're not up to company, you need it."

"Yana... I..." Ken choked back emotion. "I should... Christ... I had to fire Jo. He broke DND."

"What?!" Yana nearly dropped her phone, but only dropped her jacket.

"He didn't check the list and made a delivery to Eugenie Katerina Maoh." Now, Yana did drop her phone in shock. When she did grab it back up from the floor, Ken was laughing, a weak, humorless trill. "You see, now? I've been dealing with..."

"Kenny, it's gonna be okay." Yana picked her jacket up and found the shoe that had somehow fallen off of her foot, gathering herself as quickly as she could. "I'm going to call Dan, and we'll figure this out!" She hurried out, leaving her teacup on the table and forgetting to turn off her office light.

In a sense, Ken was her Prince, too, inheritor of Rosetta's strength and will, and she would follow him wherever he had to go, to the ends of the Earth. She knew for a fact that Dan felt just the same, and the two of them owed him as much as they owed Rosetta. She also knew that even if he couldn't do this alone, the three of them together could.


	26. This, Too, Shall Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo comes face to face with the Holy Man and has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Depictions of graphic violence.

**24: This, Too, Shall Pass**

Somehow, Jo had found the energy to drag himself to a second-hand store, and used the last of the money in his pocket for a set of clean clothes. When he got back to Benny's place, Benny was back too, back on his Xbox, with a box of pizza, a six-pack, and a few brownies in paper bags. He also had a plastic bag from Rite-Aid, but Jo was only interested in the pizza. (If he knew anything about Benny, those brownies would be a really bad idea.) He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and he only felt hungry when the cheese got to his mouth.

He wasn't sure what time it was, only that it was dark, when Benny actually cracked open the Rite Aid bag and took out a few surgical masks. "Here, kid, you might want one of these." Jo squinted at it.

"Didn't know your  _yakuza_  fetish went that far."

"Yeah, yeah, cut your finger off, I just might cream my pants." Benny sneered, then threw a rubber band at him. "Tie that hair up. That'll get you made like that if anyone sees us." He snapped his fingers, and whipped around to grab his jacket. Jo pulled his jacket on as well, then pulled his hair up and back.

"You got any scarves or anything?" He buttoned his jacket, and Benny dug into a bin and tossed a scarf at his face. Just as Jo got it wrapped around his neck, Benny's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed, and chills ran through him, the thin hair on the back of his neck arching up. Benny snickered, and tugged his collar.

"Relax, Jojo! I ain't creepin'. Just fixin' it." He tugged the scarf down to cover the back of Jo's neck, then circled around to face him. Jo twisted his head back, still shaking his touch off, and Benny grinned. "Man, this really takes me back. I know you said you just needed money, but don't you feel any of that Little Shangri-La Pride? You're gonna have a big hand tonight in getting our people what we deserve." Benny tweaked Jo's ear. "Or you still all hung up on being half-in, half-out?" He tugged Jo's hair, and Jo whipped around and caught his wrist. Benny wrenched his arm from Jo's grip, holding the same even-keeled smirk as always. "Join up, for real. I'm beggin' ya. You'll look good with wings. And if you impress the boss tonight, he might make you a watchman."

Jo huffed out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding until Benny had backed off, but put on a little smirk and gave a shrug. "Nah, man, I'm cool." He stuffed his phone into his pocket and rolled his shoulders back. "Let's just go."

He didn't owe Benny a word more explanation than that.

Benny led Jo down and through the city again as the lights all died around them, headed for a rendezvous point he wouldn't describe. Jo was lost in the fog and condensation of what was becoming a colder and wetter October than he could remember, but caught glimpses of street signs and stoplights through the steam of his breath through his scarf. It was enough to discern north and west through the dim glow of the streetlights without the sun as compass, and that just made him wonder why they were headed that way. The Northwest of the Little Shangri-La quadrant was mostly houses, tenements and apartments, and not a lot of businesses. If they were going to get anything out of a shakedown, they'd be better off hitting up the pawnshops or jewelry stores closest to the docks. Still, he recognized the area enough when he walked past a garage he'd delivered to a few times, and the liquor store half a block down where two guys, dressed in understated cold-weather clothes, faces covered with a scarf and a ski hat, and cheerfully greeted Benny. One had a six-pack under his arm, and Benny, laughing and high-fiving them, asked where the party was.

"Three blocks down, two north. C'mon, we'll all go together."

The guy with the beer passed cans around, one for each of them, and Jo hesitantly cracked his and took a sip. He couldn't be sure why it seemed like a good idea to any of them to drink when they were supposed to be on the job, but then he realized it could be used as an out if they got caught. ("I didn't mean to do it, honest, I had a couple in me, won'cha go easy?") Jo knew he'd made plenty of mistakes after one too many drinks. He drank half the can and poured the rest out. Benny had taken notice, and scoffed, but Jo shrugged his shoulders. "I can't finish it, it's making me sick. I'm still workin' on that headache, and I ain't gonna be no good to you if I gotta stop to blow chunks."

"Whatever." Benny scoffed and adjusted his mask.

The moon, bloated and hazy against a pillow of smoggy clouds, was hardly enough light for the sidewalk, and the streetlights and neon signs flickered and buzzed but barely even batted at the shadows. Jo just kept his head low and tried to watch where his own feet were going, so he wouldn't step on a rat or something he'd trip over. He only spotted another set of feet near his going the opposite direction when his shoulder was already colliding with someone else's, and he stumbled aside into the street and turned around to wave at the man he'd bumped. "Sorry about that, man."

"Jeez," Benny hissed, "Watch where you're going."

The man laughed politely, revealing a voice Jo knew he recognized, and turned a bit to wave at them. "Think nothing of it." He took a step towards them, coming under the nearest streetlight, and Jo realize he was staring Neil Jenning in the face. "I have to admit, I'm a bit lost, and it is rather late, isn't it? You're the first people I've come across in a few blocks." His gaze lit and lingered on Jo. "You gentlemen seem to know the area. Would you mind showing me the way to Washington and Third?"

Jenning was wearing his collared shirt under a heavy wool jacket, and he tucked his hands into his pockets as they rounded onto Adams. Somehow, Jo, Benny, and the other two had simply fallen into position posted around him, in formation in four corners like a patchwork royal escort around a king. Jo, his head a blur, didn't pretend he didn't know what was going on. He didn't want to believe it, no, but at the same time, he wondered why it hadn't been more obvious from the start.

The Holy Man. The fucking Holy Man. No wonder Steele and Gage got bad vibes off of him. No wonder he offered to call Uriel himself. Jo desperately wanted to ask why a rich, famous scientist would play along with this insanity, because he wasn't part of the underclass that Benny spoke of with such urgent, righteous rage, and he sure as hell stood to lose as much as anyone if the gangs were given the run of the city, but clearly he was rooted as deeply in this as any of them, entrenched as the bogeyman who loomed over every lowlife or thug in this city. And here Jo was, walking behind him on his right, likely expected to roll over at his every beck or wave.

The night was only getting more surreal, because Jenning motioned for them to halt outside of a church. The sign wasn't lit, the name invisible, but the spires and crosses were unmistakable even in the dim light. Jo squinted up at it, then frowned. "Here?"

The other three all turned glares, one of them half-mouthing a snarled insult about his mother and intelligence, but Jenning himself laughed emptily, patronizingly, his gaze lit and holding on Jo's face. "Oh, of course, where else? I'm giving a guest sermon next Sunday. I've a meeting with the priest here to discuss. It's only my first time coming here at night, you see. In fact, would you gentlemen mind waiting for me?"

Benny answered before Jo could ask what would surely be another really stupid question. "Sure thing, mister." He jabbed Jo's side with his elbow for good measure, and Jenning maintained his empty, gracious smile and turned up the walk to the front doors. As he opened and closed them, Benny whipped around to the other two. "Go around the back. Me and the kid will hang out by the front."

The two other goons turned around the corner for the back of the building, and Benny motioned for Jo to scoot down to the other end of the building. The moment they vanished, though, Jo heard indistinct chatter from behind the yellow light gleaming through the front doors. He knew he recognized Jenning's voice, but the other sounded familiar, too. He strained to listen, leaning incrementally closer, until the night was split by a horrid shriek.

A woman's voice. Jo winced, and outright cringed when he heard Jenning clearly through the open door: "I tried asking politely. I was nice to you. If you'd listened and just agreed... ah, well, I'm sorry things turned out this way." There was a nasty crunch, and then, Jenning laughed.

Jo turned desperately to Benny, but Benny was staring into the street, steadfast and steady like he'd never pretended to be for Jo, dutifully watching for anyone he might need to redirect or silence. Jo tried to do the same, but he wondered if he didn't look more like he was searching out someone, anyone, who might stop this.

But nobody was coming. Not even the person he now heard the woman screaming for:

"HASSAN! HASSAN!"

Oh, no, oh, God no. There was shouting, screaming in Hindi or whatever babble spilled out between Father Shalimar and Hassan, and if that was a woman, then Jo had a lot of questions, but damn it all if that wasn't Shalimar's voice. Jo's knees wobbled, and his face went cold. Benny reached across the doorway to nudge his arm. "C'mon, kid, you see worse in the movies." His gaze darted in, then back to Jo, sharply focused. "He's gotta send a good, strong message. Keeps the underlings in line. I know it's fucked up seeing it the first time for real. Just... put on your headphones or something." He backed away, and Jo silently dug out his earbuds. He popped one in, and familiar, eerie percussion filled his head. He tried to lose himself in the rhythm and lyrics:

_"With the strain, and the comforting, you know everyone needs to go, but don't everyone go, don't everyone go at once..."_

It only harmonized with Shalimar's cries. He could still hear the sounds of a beatdown, of someone getting tossed around, a chair breaking, fabric shredding. He could still hear Jenning: "If you're not going to beg for mercy, at least stop struggling. It'll only hurt more." He heard another heavy impact. He heard Shalimar shouting again in a language Jo didn't know, but that made perfect sense right now. He clenched his fists in the pockets of his jacket.

"Where the fuck is Hassan?" He hissed it to himself and pressed his knuckles against the seams. Benny glowered at him and hissed a warning Jo didn't listen to, but he shook his head, then squeezed his eyes shut.

_Please, God, you ain't ever done me no favors before, but don't let him kill the guy._

Mercifully, there was silence. Jo turned his music off, only to hear hoarse, loud breathing, and the approach of muted footsteps. Jenning pushed out the door, peeling off a pair of leather gloves, and clicked his tongue a few times. "Goodness, messy negotiations. Let's be leaving." Jo noticed him take a pair of rubber gloves off under the leather ones, dropped them onto the sidewalk, then poured something from a little bottle in his pocket onto them. The latex curled, hissing and spitting smoke, then dissolved into a shriveled black husk. Jenning dusted his hands off and strolled away, whistling Ave Maria. Benny chased him, and Jo spotted the shadows of the other two watchmen following. He, however, turned back.

The sanctuary was in shambles, cleared as sure as if a bomb had been dropped in the middle, and Shalimar was laid out, face-down at ground zero. Naked, brutalized, arms twisted out at odd angles, legs askew. Cuts and gashes, some clean as if done with a knife or wire, some jagged, just split with concussive force, decorated every inch of Shalimar's skin. To Jo's horror, Shalimar's breasts, small and bruised but distinctly present, were nearly severed off from the bottom.

He had no idea Shalimar was a she. Nobody should treat a woman- fuck,  _nobody should treat_ _anyone_ _like this._

Benny suddenly slung his arm around Jo's neck and dragged him a step away, then muttered into his ear: "Jo, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I lost something." Jo twisted out of his grip.

"Come on, dude, she was screaming for her buddy, there'll be cops soon, let's go!"

"Dude, I lost it somewhere back here, go on ahead, I'll catch up!" He shoved Benny back, and Benny swore and ran off, swallowed into the night left in Jenning's shadow. Jo immediately turned back into the sanctuary, haunted by a single thought:

This could have been Father Steele. This could have been anyone. How many lives had he ruined?

He snatched up the ruins of Shalimar's cassock and dove down beside her. "Father-- Mother-- Sister-- shit, can you hear me!?" He carefully rolled her onto her side, and and she coughed thick blood. Her eyes still moved, long-lashed, dark, and fuck, now Jo was looking, if he'd ever thought of her as a woman, she might have been beautiful. She'd be pretty now if her face wasn't half-swollen shut. She seemed to focus on him, and her mouth moved, bubbling something that might have been speech. He swallowed nausea and nerves, and pressed her cassock over the wounds on her chest. "I'm sorry about this, I'm so fucking sorry." He grabbed more of the shredded linen and tried to patch the worst of it, talking without realizing or even thinking about it, each word more watery than the last: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I never meant to-" He blinked, and his eyes stung like fire. His vision blurred with tears, and he blinked them back, still babbling, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I know I'm going to hell, but shit, I never wanted-"

Shalimar's hand snapped out to grab his jaw. "Shut... up..."

Jo swallowed again, but he forced a smile. "That's right. I'm a fucking idiot, and I need to shut up." He clenched his jaw tight, working off of instinct to wrap and cover whatever he could. Loud footsteps sounded, chatter in that language Jo didn't know, but as soon as Hassan got into the room, he silenced. Then, he rushed forth only to hit his knees at her side. He patted Shalimar's face a few times, and the two exchanged words for a moment. Then, Hassan's gaze flashed to Jo.

"You are--"

"I dunno anymore. We just gotta get her to a hospital."

Hassan bit his lip, and Jo pressed his hand over one of the wounds on her breast, desperate to stem the bleeding. He seemed to study him for a fraction of a second, before nodding. "We have a car. I get the car." He hurried up to his feet and hustled out, digging in his pockets already, and Jo half-heard him dialing someone on his cell phone. He didn't bother listening, but pushed her hair from her face while keeping the other pressed over the worst of her wounds.

"See, he's gonna get the car. We're gonna drive you in, we're gonna fix you up, and you're gonna be just fine." He was smiling helplessly, but he still was taking in the extent of the damage. He had no clue how one person could do this to another in such a short amount of time-- Christ, Shalimar was  _wrecked-_ \- how could one person do this to another at all? Shalimar nodded, then wheezed and let her chin drop. The rest of her limbs were too ruined to do more than twitch. He rubbed her face and muttered stupid nonsense. "Stay with me, Father, don't you fade out now. We're gonna be fine, we're gonna be fine..."

There was a squeal of tires, and Jo saw Hassan parking a sedan at the end of the walk. He put the largest unused scrap of Shalimar's cassock over her, then carefully gathered her up in it. He kept whispering to her, over and over, "Gonna be okay, gonna be fine. Gonna take real good care of ya." He carefully, gently laid her down in the back seat, and motioned to Hassan. "Ride with her, okay? I'll drive."

He took the last scrap of cassock and wrapped it around his head like a bandanna, then eased into the driver's seat. Hassan had moved Shalimar's head into his lap, as the rest of her frame trembled with the rev of the motor. "Hassan, the women--"

"I called Gabriel. He's going to send help."

Jo swallowed, but put the car into drive and rolled towards streets he knew would take them to Mercy. Hassan spoke to her now, Hindi or whatever they spoke in low, gentle tones that kept her lucid through a few stoplights. Jo listened to her wheezing, struggling against her own body for air, his eyes still burning, his hands still shaking, but his focus firmly on the road in front of them. Then, Shalimar started to hum.

_Let it go, this, too, shall pass..._

He knew the tune. It was a song Harley had liked. The one with the funky tempo change. At the next red light, he yanked his phone out, pulled it up, and tossed his earphones back to her. Hassan set one into her ear, and she relaxed into the melody, but Jo could still hear it echoing.

Without even wanting to, he was singing it, under his breath. He shook at the thought of anyone listening to him, but he wasn't in front of someone who would beat the shit out of him for being alive. This was someone who had lived the very same. The tears he'd been holding back broke through, and his voice echoed the refrain over and over:

_"Let it go, this, too, shall pass..."_

He stopped in the emergency loop of the hospital entry, ignoring all shouts and directions to go elsewhere, mindlessly focused on just getting Shalimar help. Any orderly or traffic director that might have tried to stop him went silent when he heaved her out of the back seat and lifted her into his arms. She wasn't even heavy to him. He let her head rest up on his shoulder, near his mouth, and kept whispering it into her ear.  _"Let it go, this, too, shall pass... when the morning comes."_

He only let himself be stopped again at the front desk, Hassan at his heels, and spoke before anyone else could, forcing the water from his tones: "We found her at Father Shalimar's church. Nobody knows who she is." Hassan's English might have been broken, but he pieced together exactly what Jo was going for.

"I will take responsibility."

Jo had heard Jenning whispering about the Father's "secret," and this might have been the only way to keep Shalimar in a frock when all was said and done. Nobody else needed to know but him and Hassan. He set her on the gurney that was brought out for her without saying another word, then about-faced past the crowd of onlookers who had gathered to watch Shalimar being brought in. He blinded his eyes to all of them, walking back towards the door, and felt the song come back to his lips unbidden.

_"Let it go, this, too, shall pass..."_

Jo didn't see Harley, watching him from the crowd. Even with his hair bound up and most of his face covered, he recognized his voice. Even with his poor vision, he could see the tears streaming down his face. He didn't know what to do with any of this information. Steele would only get angry. Gage was too young to understand. And he, himself, was feeling all of it swirl into a murky haze around his head, and each step forward was one more into a quagmire.

Jo, too, had no idea where to turn next. He only knew he couldn't go backwards. He could never let himself be part of this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs referenced in chapter are "Shit in Your Cut" by Modest Mouse and "This Too Shall Pass" by OKGo.


	27. Nowhere to Go But Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nowhere else to go, Jo takes a step back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Today is my birthday, so you guys get another chapter! Enjoy!

**25: Nowhere to Go But Back**

Jo wanted answers, and there was only one place he was going to get those. He had his foot in the door, he might as well use it to get his nose in, too. He somehow crossed the city again to Benny's run-down shitbox of a flop house and landed, heavy as lead, on the sidewalk out front. The townhouse windows were blank and cracked, reflecting the sensation that crackled in his head like broken reception and burned in his gut like rotten whiskey. This place, just being here again, was sickening, but he had nowhere else he could turn.

He shoved his way in the front door, because even if it had been locked, Jo was sure the door frame had rotten out ten years ago. Benny was asleep on the couch, but he opened an eye and grinned groggily as Jo stormed in. "An' where the hell've you been?" He sat up slowly, oozing ease to clash with the tension fraught in Jo's frame. Jo could only shake his head.

"Dude, we just mutilated a lady. You wouldn't treat a dog like that, not unless you were a real sick fuck. I was tryin' to get that shit out of my head."

To Jo's surprise, Benny's lip actually curled with disgust. "I know, it's kinda fucked up. But she was likely to get in the way." He grounded his feet on the greasy, matted carpet, holding eye contact with Jo. "The Holy Man says priests like her- and shit, ladies ain't supposed to be priests anyway- gotta get shut down before we can make the magic happen. Priests, they can move people." Benny scrunched his nose, then fished out a cigarette and lit up as Jo waited with bated breath for explanation. Benny didn't disappoint: "Most of 'em, they're fine sittin' back, fondling altar boys and reading gobbledegook out of them dusty old books, but then you get your activists, the ones who watch the streets and get between us and the people in our way. Tom O'Day, for one. That sonofabitch got more people talking than a penny-a-minute phone sex line on Valentine's Day. Steele, that guy." Benny shook his cigarette next to his head, ruefully. "We're lucky that bastard ate it."

"What?" Jo felt the pit of his stomach drop out, as Benny dragged on his cigarette.

"Connor Steele. He was sweet on every bum in the quarter, so says Jenning. G. Maoh would be walkin' free on the backs of the fatcats today if Steele hadn't used his drifter buddies to set up a spy ring. Jenning said the new Father Steele talked tough but he didn't do much, so he just had his kid roughed up to make sure the guy knew to keep his ass low."

Jo winced, then closed his eyes. Relief that Steele was still alive came like cold water in his gut, but the sensation waned too quickly. "So what was she gonna do? She worked with, what, girls who got beat on by their guys?"

"Pfft. Bitches who get beat back after their guy gets sick of takin' it. Two sides to every DV charge. Sure, maybe a few of the Cents' gals need protection, but there ain't so many left of them, anyway." This was news to Jo, but it hit him that without Ysidro, most of the rebuilt Cents had likely scuttled back under whatever rock they'd come from or begged their way into the other gangs. Benny didn't pick up on Jo's bewilderment, instead just curling his lips, eyelids heavy as he thought. "Back in Shangri-La, ain't a woman who ain't gotten a good slap, 'less she's smart." Benny sneered again and rolled his shoulders back. "But Jenning said he told her to move her operation to the county, said he'd fund it and everything, so them gals'd be a lot 'safer,' plus the cops wouldn't sniff around and ask if the guys they're tryin' to hook for assault or whatever ain't got wings or horns, and where they can find 'em."

"Fuck." Jo wasn't sure what else to say, because his skin was curdling around his bones and everything made too much sense. "So, you're not just cleanin' out bad blood from the ranks. You're takin' out anyone who might be watchin' the watchmen." He crossed his arms. "So, what, you all gonna shut down the cops and the fire department, too?"

Benny shrugged his shoulders but snickered. "Jenning's got a plan, man. Guy's a fucking genius, I mean, he's a doctor or some shit, ain't he? But- and here's the thing-" Benny cocked his head towards Jo, and his tone dropped like a penny in a fountain. "It's goin' down tomorrow night. The boss said he was fine with you last night, so if you want a fatter cut, we can make that happen. You in or what?"

Jo knew he couldn't be in, but he had to know what he was turning down. "What, exactly, the fuck you want me to do?"

"I told you, man." Benny put his feet down hard and stood up, and his genial smile was wiped off into a cold, hard glower. "We're bustin' out G. Maoh. Tomorrow night." Jo swallowed a cringe, and dug for a cigarette.

Hell, it was going down tomorrow night. Everything was coming at him, faster and faster, like a truck down the interstate, and he was starting to know what it felt like to hang on for dear life from the pit of his soul.

"I dunno, man, it sounds... it sounds big, and good, but it sounds real big."

"We got the brains and the numbers, man." Benny stepped in, too close to Jo, his expression outright lemon-sour now, and he seized his shoulder harder than he had to. "We got brains, numbers, and fuckin' purpose. They can't stop us all, not if we stand together. So I'm gonna ask you again, Jojo: you in, or you out?"

Jo caught Benny's wrist and threw him off. "Quit it with the fuckin' baby name, do I look like I'm fucking eight or some shit?" He huffed a sigh, his skin crawling from the contact, the memory of Shalimar touching his arm and face still raw and at the forefront of his mind. "Look, I dunno. This is big shit. I ain't sure it's for me."

"You fucking chickenshit." Benny curled a fist in the front of Jo's shirt and throttled him. "Is this 'cause you're half? Bein' white never got you shit."

"Bein' Shangri-La never got me shit, neither, dickhole!"

"It got you me. And it got you people who don't look at your face and just see another Shangri-La refugee lookin' for a handout, someone they can walk all over." Benny actually shoved Jo, but kept his grip twisted in his collar. "But you're always half-in, half-out. Don't know who you wanna be, what you want, you just drift and wait for good stuff to come your way, snatch it up but throw it away when it gets hard. S'why it was so damn hard to keep you around. Ain't that always been your fuckin' problem?"

This time, Jo couldn't hold back the flinch. Shit, that hurt.

To his surprise, Benny let go of him. "You need time to think? Fine. Go sleep it off and figure out what you want. I got better shit to do than try to drag you into a good decision when you're clawing for the door." Benny pushed Jo back, and Jo scoffed and turned for the door, shaking his head.

He knew turning his back on Benny was a bad idea- the guy good as told him he'd stick a knife in him if he had the chance and motivation- but the thought of actually doing what Benny, and Jenning as his prim, smirking puppetmaster, wanted wasn't an option. Not happening. No way, no how. He just couldn't let Benny on to that.

He'd gotten everything he could get out of Benny, but he just didn't know what to do with it. Like he didn't know what to do with anything else in the wreck that was his life. The thought of Shalimar still sat in his head and in the core of his heart, smothered only by the cloud that was G. Maoh and the chaos that was coming back to the city, as unstoppable as a hurricane. Benny was right that they had numbers. Jo only had himself.

Even worse was the faint memory of a familiar face staring at him as he'd left the hospital lobby, his expression haunting him still. He was starting to get the feeling that no matter what he did, the ghost of Harley was going to cling to him and drag him to the bottom, and he'd drown in whatever deep purgatory he'd left the two of them in.

Still, he stepped out again into a dreary morning that was quickly turning into a rainy afternoon, his heels hitting cracked asphalt, and started walking, breathing in air and water and trying to wade his way through both.

* * *

Steele slammed the door shut behind him, the impact echoing in the quiet, dark room, and he rushed to the bed. Shalimar lay flat on her back, illuminated with a halo of soft white light from the sole lamp turned on positioned just above her head. She was sedated and still, weighed down with painkillers and the pain that still radiated through her, but her eyes followed him. He ground his teeth together as he surveyed her form, and tightly snarled out, "Why did I have to find out from the God-damned newspaper, Lakshmi?! All Hassan told me was that he needed coverage, not-! Not-!" He reached for her face, choked and froze, but she found the control on the side of her bed and nudged the mattress up, letting him brush his fingers across the new scars on her cheeks. "Not this." She nodded a few times to move the oxygen mask off of her face, her voice raspy and croaking from the effort.

"It's no worse than that barfight we got into on your twenty-first birthday," she managed with a weak grin, and Steele bit back rage.

"You got two good cuts then! This... This...!"

Her face only had one new scar, but the rest of her, God, she looked like she'd been through a grinder. Her arms were casted, her hips were in a brace to keep them from dislocating. Most disturbingly, her chest was bound tight, the outline of the bandages visible through her gown. He cringed, but had to ask: "Did someone find out...?"

"He knew already," she hissed back, and Steele insistently pushed the oxygen mask over her mouth. She struggled to speak through it, her voice too soft. "He tore at my hair, he slashed at my breasts, he stabbed my belly. He knew. The man who stepped in after it was finished found out, but he's the one who covered for me."

Steele pressed his lips into a thin line, then sighed and collapsed into the chair next to her bed. It was still just a little warm; Hassan hadn't left too long ago. He wanted to ask how this could have happened, but he didn't have to. "Jenning."

"Who else?" Shalimar winced her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I told the police I recognized him as Neil Jenning. They are certain I am mistaken. They spoke to him, and he has an alibi: he was visiting Father Rakesh Shalimar. Two young men- to quote the officers, 'students' who were at his home at the time- vouched for the same."

"And Rakesh is conveniently unavailable for comment. He knew he could exploit you."

Shalimar's pained expression only deepened at this. "Hassan has told others that I had to leave town just after my meeting with Jenning. A family emergency. If I survive—"

"Lakshmi-"

" _If_  I survive," she insisted, "I can return to work, for what measure of dignity that will grant me. If I do not, then I was in a dreadful accident on my way home."

Steele inhaled through his nose and squeezed her hand tight. "You're alive now. That's all that matters." Her eyes fluttered shut, but she chewed her lower lip.

"You did not ask about the man who brought me here." She shifted, trying to sit up, but Steele grumbled a chide and barred her with the front of his arm. "His name is Joel, isn't it? With the red hair." She heard Steele inhale sharply, and rested her chin on his arm. "He was there. He helped Hassan to bring me here. He showed me kindness that I sincerely doubt he's shown himself. I'm not certain I'd be here now if he had not administered aid when he did. You know him. Where is he?"

Steele withdrew his arm to take her hand and bit back anger, for her sake and her sake only. "In the wind." Shalimar sighed into pursed lips, and he ran his thumb over her bruised, swollen knuckles. She was quiet for a few moments, as he silently fumed behind the fall of his hair.

Finally, she spoke again. "You must have some way of contacting him. He is someone you want on your side. I can tell he's someone you'd rather not talk or think about in this moment, but you can still trust him."

"I never trusted him."

"You're a bad liar." Shalimar coughed, and squeezed his hand again, this time with surprising force. "But even if it is so, best start now. If whatever Jenning is playing at comes to fruition, you'll need all the allies you can get."

"You shouldn't be concer-"

"You're a friend, Gabriel. I'll be as concerned as I please." Shalimar coughed again, but held her head back, chin up, like any proud rajah.

Steele sneered, but turned his face away so Shalimar wouldn't see. "He's trash. What's worse, he does it to himself."

"You mean his history? Nobody's pure. No amount of penitence will wipe any one person's soul clear. That doesn't mean he's not someone you want on your side. Have faith in him. Someone has to. His intentions are good." Steele heard the heart monitor pick up, and Shalimar forced shoulders up onto her pillow. "I saw into his soul, and I think even you'll approve. There is something about him, when he opens his mouth and speaks from inside-"

"Lakshmi, please." His voice broke, and he pushed his hand to her forehead. "You're feverish. You're delirious. I'm getting a nurse."

He moved to get up, but she snatched his wrist. "Stop calling me that, you ass." Her heartrate slowed from a frenzy to an irritated, but measured andante. "I am and remain Rakesh,  _Cormorant_." She- no, Steele reminded himself-  _He_  sat back again, and Steele huffed, then flicked his finger lightly against Rakesh's forehead.

"If that's what you prefer, then that's what you'll get out of me. I'll tell the nurses to turn up your morphine, if it'll stop you from seeing things that aren't there."

"Corey." Shalimar sighed as he turned his back. "I'm not delusional. Trust me on this. I've trusted you on blind faith before."

Steele drummed his fingers on the edge of the bed, grimacing as he felt Rakesh's stare boring through the back of his head. "I know."

_Rakesh always returned to their shared dormitory at the seminary late in the evening. Gabriel had gotten used to falling asleep with his bed empty and waking up to find Rakesh dressed and ready at his desk. It was the first rainy night he spent in the seminary that he pieced together why that was._

_The brush of the trees against his window, boughs weighed down by the downpour, rattled around Gabriel's mind and kept him awake. He shuddered at the sound, the noise echoing, reverberating and returning with memories, and curled in the corner where his bed met the wall, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't stop hearing it, or seeing it, never could, but when there was water hitting glass, it was always worse, and worse every time. He tried to crush his own head between his hands, but was jolted from his efforts when the dorm room shut. He jerked his head up to see Rakesh stripping off his dripping, sopping collared shirt, muttering oaths in Nepalese. When the shirt came off, a tight white vest was revealed, and Gabe didn't look away in time before Rakesh more carefully removed that article, unveiling small, bruised, crushed breasts. Rakesh turned for his bed to grab his sleep clothes, but startled when he saw Gabriel sitting up. "Oh... Christ..."_

_Rakesh stared at Gabriel, looking unusually lost. Gabriel knew his mouth was hanging open, and he likely looked as stupid as Rakesh felt right now. Rakesh recovered first, pulled his shirt on, then knelt at Gabriel's bedside._

_"You have to understand. I know what this looks like, how I appear, but I... I can't be a woman. I'm not certain I'm a man, but I know for certain I am not a woman."_

_"They won't let you stay if you're a girl," he mumbled back, crossing his arms, ice creeping up his shoulders at Rakesh's proximity._

_"I feel closer to God as a man. I feel closer to myself this way, too." Rakesh bowed his head and pressed his hands together. You can't tell anyone. I'm asking- begging, Gabriel-"_

_"I won't tell."_

_"You won't?" Rakesh's eyes widened. "Not a breath?"_

_"Who would I tell?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, as Rakesh pulled himself to stand again, his knees shaking. "I …honestly, I hate everyone here but you. Trust me. I'll tell nobody." He waved his hand. "You're whatever you tell me you are."_

_Rakesh forced his jaw to shut, then actually chuckled and put his hand on Gabriel's head. "I... I suppose I owe you."_

_Gabriel shoved his hand off. "You don't."_

_"Why are you awake, anyway?" Rakesh sat down beside him, and Gabriel, his hand shaking, pointed to the window..._

The subject had dropped there, and Shalimar had sat with Steele until the rain stopped. They didn't bring it up again unless the issue was important. He'd only learned Rakesh's birth name when Hassan showed him some of his immigration paperwork, and the first time he used it, he'd backhanded him. He'd revealed his own birth name in the ensuing conversation. That Rakesh Shalimar was Rakesh Shalimar was never in question to him, and in the same thought, he knew Shalimar to be trustworthy. At the same time, though, he had his own ends to watch.

"To the nurses. Is Lakshmi okay?" He paused at the door, and Shalimar sighed.

"It's what Hassan's been using. He says I'm a second cousin to Father Shalimar to explain any resemblance. It'll have to do."

Steele grunted, and spared him one further glance, then sighed. "I called the Archdiocese. It was the best I could do. Gage is being discharged to recover further at home before his next surgery. I don't know how long that will be, but I'll check on your parish and come to visit and keep you apprised." He departed, arms at his sides, still feeling Shalimar's languid gaze and hearing his words in his mind, retracing each one. Then, he pressed it under as he arrived in Gage's room.

Gage was already dressed, and limping around on weak legs made wobbly from lack of use, keeping balanced on the bar on the end of the bed. He beamed at Steele as he came back in. "You take care of everything?" He paused, as Steele's closed, hard expression registered. "Is something wrong?"

Steele tried to force back a frown, but set the flat of his palm on his head. "Don't worry about it. Once we fill out the final paperwork, you'll be ready to go home." He then flicked his fingernail against Gage's forehead. "Go sit in the wheelchair before you fall and they have to put you back in the backless paper gown and make you lay in bed again." Gage moaned, but circled past him to sink into a waiting wheelchair and grumbled about how he felt  _fine_ , and Steele looked to the shadow sulking on the windowsill.

Harley huddled with his cheek against the cold pane of glass, gazing without sight at the rain draining down in drips and broken lines. He clutched his battered suitcase in both hands, his pupils dilated, his face drawn and taut, and his body shivering. Steele perused his form, taking him in, then grunted and crossed his arms. "I suppose I'm taking home two outpatients." Harley didn't seem to hear him, but Steele saw his mouth move and faintly heard him responding to something:

"I have everything right here, everything I'm allowed to keep. The rest is yours." He shook his head, his eyes focusing on something far away. His focus dissolved in an instance. "I won't need it anymore." He hugged his suitcase tight, and Steele scoffed.

"What a pain." He pivoted around, stopping on his way back out only to squeeze Gage's shoulder. Gage had picked up Jo's laptop case, still loaded with movies, and bit his lip as he looked down into it. Steele sighed and released him. "There's nothing you can do for him. We'll deal with it." He glossed past the fact that even he wasn't sure what he was going to do anymore and brushed back out. If nothing else, whatever he had to do next, he would at least do it from the place where God had put him.

* * *

Purgatory was cold.

Jo kicked the door to his apartment open, to find that the heat had been turned off, the drapes shut tight, the trash taken out, and the bed made. The room smelled like old laundry detergent, like clothes that hadn't been worn in a few months. He shivered and pulled his jacket around himself, but didn't go for the lights or thermostat- why run up a power bill he couldn't pay, anyway?- and checked the refrigerator. Nothing with an expiration date that might fall within the next two years was left, meaning a few salad dressings, a jar of pickles and a few beers were lined up neatly on the shelf. Harley had cleaned it out. Harley had cleaned himself out.

The space where Haku's cage had been was wiped clean, his food and bedding gone. His suitcase was gone, with no sign of his clothes or books remaining. Jo had meant to get him some sort of drawer or shelf where he could fold it all up just the way he liked it and have it looking as pretty and neat as he did day to day, but he'd never gotten around to it. Didn't matter now, anyway. The blanket he'd used for all those nights he'd slept on his own sofa was folded up and laid over the end of the bed. The shelves were straight, right down to the empty spots on his media shelf where he'd grabbed DVDs and tapes for Gage, exactly as he'd left them. He felt like those empty spaces.

He felt like he hadn't been home in years, and he'd come back to find it hollow.

"What was I expecting?" He rubbed his forehead, because he felt so stupid. Did he really think he would come back to find a hot meal, or a plate Saran-wrapped just for him? A friendly voice, a smile, someone waiting for him? He knew better than that. This time, though, it wasn't because the person who did those things had left. He'd shoved himself out. He'd left.

He sank onto the sofa, his gaze still set on the space where Harley usually curled up, facing the window, his mind whirling back to the first night they spent together, the first time they met, the moment Harley stepped into the light. The first conversation, and how it ended in Harley tossing him out. How Harley had tried to shutter him out.

"I should've left you alone." Jo scrubbed his fingers over his aching eyes, then dragged his fingernails down his cheeks. "You were right, you were fucking right." He laughed, the noise tight and strident, and laughed until his ribs hurt, and then everything else in him ached too. "Fuck! Fucking hell, you'd be..." He swallowed and wondered where Harley would have been if not for him, but he didn't have an answer. "Fuck, you'd probably be better off. I'm trash, and you were always right about me from the start. Why the fuck did I want to change your mind?" He shredded at his hair, laughing again, then let himself collapse onto the couch. He could still imagine Harley on the right side of the sofa, right under his ear, cuddled up with a novel or his little notebook, how Harley would sometimes flick his gaze over at Jo and smile, then pick his pen up again. He buried his arms under the cushion and hugged it tight, wishing there were even a little bit of Harley left for him.

Then, his fingers found paper in the couch.

He stretched his hand deeper in and drew the paper out, only to find Harley's little green notebook, a pen still folded in its pages, crumpled and wrinkled but with all of its pages intact. He turned it over in his hands a few times, wondering at it. Harley had left nothing else, and he'd taken good care of the green notebook. It was always close at hand, and Jo would catch him jotting little notes in it sometimes. Grocery list, chores for the evening he wanted to remember, or just a thought he had to put down before it slipped away from him. It was always on his arm of the sofa if he wasn't using it. He'd had it on him the night of his birthday, and while he had never forced it away from Jo, he'd never left it in Jo's reach before, either. It only made him realize that Harley wouldn't accidentally forget this. He'd left it on purpose. He had wanted Jo to find it.

So, he opened it. Like he'd thought, there were notes about needing leeks or cabbage for something or other in the margins here and there, but like Harley had said, most of the pages were full of bits and pieces of broken poetry.

_Red like autumn, red like dawn  
_ _The beauty in endings, the glorious new_

Strange. Didn't rhyme. Harley hadn't been kidding about not being such a great poet. Jo flipped a few more pages, running his focus over scratched out lines, etched out words and suggested replacements, and mismatched couplets.

_Gather me in like so much rainwater_  
_Gather me up like snow_  
_I'll melt away by morning  
_ _But I've nowhere else to go_

Much of it was illegible, but he was starting to pick a pattern in the lines he could make sense of: it was all very obviously written about someone. He also spotted one paragraph outlined in red ink, with an arrow pointing down and to the side of the page. He then noticed the line continuing down the spine, and followed it to the last few pages of the notebook.

He flipped open the page, and the first five words hit him hard:

_They call it Staying Straight_

His eyes widened, and he pressed the book's spine open and read.

_They call it Staying Straight_  
_And I wonder if it's worth it_  
_If anything less would be a sin_   


_I could go back._  
_I'm adaptable, I don't mind_  
_With four solid walls, stiff, stable walls_  
_Padded for my comfort and security_  
_Straightjackets, warm and tight  
_ _As good as anything anywhere else_

_I could remain._  
_"Free"_  
_(if that's what straight is)_  
_I'm adaptable, I don't mind_  
_I can find four walls anywhere_  
_Stiff, stable, sturdy walls_  
_With nothing in them but me_  
_Lock all the doors with buckles and chains  
_ _And I'm just as comfortable_

_If this is straight, bend me_  
_Gag me._  
_Walls and lines as good as prison_  
_No amount of penance will make me more free  
_ _If I must live bound and silent_

_Then there's him._  
_He's not stable, not sturdy_  
_Not stiff, never stiff_  
_(Sometimes stiff, only in secret)_  
_No edges or corners, no lines drawn, no borders_  
_Liquid fire  
_ _Blood that runs through me, life unbound_

_He is comfort_  
_He contours hold me_  
_He keeps me safe and sane_  
_(And I him)_  
_He keeps me straight_  
_(And I can't)  
_ _We're bent but unbroken, but together we are whole_

_And I want him, need him, want him  
_ _In a way that doesn't have to rhyme_

_We're not there_  
_We're still moving towards it_  
_Our lines intersected and our path jags  
_ _Not sure of our destination, but we're traveling it together_

_But it all comes back to Staying Straight._  
_How can I stay straight  
_ _When I never was to start?_

Jo's grip on the notebook crumpled the pages under them. "He wrote this about me." He wanted to throw the book at the wall, but he couldn't let go of it. "All his stupid poetry... is about me." He flipped back through it, all the way to the beginning. "When the hell did he do all of this? When? How?" His face felt hot, hotter every time he blinked, his mind roaring into high gear. "That... why didn't he...?" He turned the book over as if he couldn't be sure it was real, because he couldn't remember the last time someone had dedicated something like this to him.

And where the hell was that someone now?

He caught a glimpse of ink on the page after the poem, and flipped it over, only to find his own name staring back at him, at the top of what was very much not a poem:

_"Joel:_

_I hope you find this. I wish I were there to help you to understand, but I can't be, and I'm not certain how much help I would be anyway. I wish to apologize for the struggle you've gone through. It was never my wish to be a burden on you, and my fondest desire that I could have brought you joy. I know that's impossible now._

_By the time you'll have found this, I'll likely be dead, in one sense, if not another. Harley will be no more. It pains me to know that I died on your watch once before, and I know it left you devastated. If you're reading this, then likely, you'll be as distraught as you were then. It aches me, too, to know that I must leave you again. There are things Harley cannot do, though, and I fear such things must be done. When the wave comes down, then Gregory will stand at the gates and protect the last two things Harley's heart could keep._

_I am deeply, deeply sorry that this heart was not big enough for you to want it, or that it was the wrong shape if not the wrong size._

_Please strive to remember me fondly. I have done the same for you. Nobody ever made me so happy as you, from the day I first heard your voice and opened my eyes to find you. I never brought it up, for fear of overturning the dust that you had surely long since settled, but I wonder if you do remember._

_Do you remember the day we met, Joel? It was raining..."_

And in that moment, Jo remembered.


	28. Hello, Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo first takes a look back, then is forced to look forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! You didn't even know you were waiting for this chapter, but I know you all were. Enjoy!

**26: Hello, Stranger**

_Two days since it last rained, and today, it was raining again. It had rained a lot in the few months since since Jo had gotten moved from the juvenile center to Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, and he'd watched day after day from his single bunk in his six-by-eight cell, tangling his fingers in his hair as the rain drummed the concrete and straight into his head. It surrounded him, submerged him, but it was the only thing that broke his solitude. Other guys had visitors, but not him. Conjugals and visitation broke up the monotony of their everyday routine, but his life was completely managed by buzzers and guards. The best he had was lifting weights in the yard, and when it rained, he didn't get to. Sure, they'd let you out if you wanted to, but who wanted to go out when it rained?_

_Then again, it wasn't like Jo wanted much. Out of here, sure, but he didn't have much control over that. He studied for his GED, he did dish duty in the kitchen or laundry duty (since they wouldn't just let him break rocks like in the movies), he did his best to be a good kid, even if he was nothing but an overgrown punk. He didn't have to want much._

_So, he watched the rain fall. At least the rain was something different. It was only a drizzle, but it was something. Somewhere above him, he heard the recess buzzer, the noise aching in his head, and he heard the guards coming through, asking if anyone wanted to go out and walk around._

_Jo spun around and stuck his hand out between the bars. "Yo, send me out. Better than being in here."_

_There were no card games running, since nobody wanted to get their cards wet in the mud, so the few men still shuffling out and around were mostly huddled up and talking. A couple were running laps around the outer wall of the yard. Jo knew exactly what he wanted to do: nip the cigarette he'd traded his last five desserts for out of his uniform pocket, take out the lighter he'd traded six previously-bartered cigarettes for, and light up. It wasn't easy to get a hit, but Christ, when he got it, it was good. Still, a cigarette takes five minutes, max, and there were two hours of recess to be had. Five minutes of peace every few weeks, nicotine cravings every other day, every hour, on top of the usual gray of his life. He stubbed the butt out on the wall, ash grinding in against the white concrete and stained mortar, and gazed up at the clouded sky. Even without the prison walls, he was closed in by shades of gray and the red that always framed his vision. He took a few steps forward, still watching the skies, but stumbled into something solid. Someone else._

_"Oh, jeez, sorry." He looked to see he'd toppled over a scrawny man with a sunken chest, sallow cheeks, glasses and a brown moptop. "You okay?" He offered him a hand, but the man scuttled back on his palms, his head down, and scrambled to his feet, wringing his fingers and mumbling to himself. Jo scratched his head, then shrugged it off. To each his own. Rude to leave a guy hanging, but whatever, Jo would pretend that watching someone run away from you didn't kind of hurt. It wasn't like he'd had much luck in making friends in jail anyway. He glanced around, and realized that the guys who were out and about were all grouped off or otherwise occupied. Nearest person to him was the guard hanging by the door, checking his phone._

_At least he could exercise his lungs some without the risk of anyone hearing._

_"People are strange, when you're a stranger..." He listened to his own voice in the claustrophobic air, as the rain swallowed the sound. He kept his eyes open, scouting around for anyone who might tell him to stop. He caught sight of the skinny man again. Weird guy. He was still shaking and muttering to himself. He shrugged, and crooned the next bar: "Faces look ugly when you're alone." He heard a distant rumble, and glanced up to see darker clouds rolling in. Guards would probably call recess off when that hit. Hell, most of them were in the towers rather than on the wall or in the yard anyway, maybe they wouldn't care if he got drenched. Nobody would. "Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted..." Jo spotted the weird guy on his survey again; he_ _had wandered towards one of the huddles, whatever conversation or circle-jerk those guys were having, but he didn't look like he belonged as part of it. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here. Then again, nobody wanted to belong here, or even be here. "Streets are uneven when you're down! When you're strange..." He let his eyes close, and his head fall back against the wall. "Faces come out of the rain-"_

_A strangled cry rang out, harmonized with muffled shouts and swears, and Jo snapped back to Earth to see the weird guy, glasses askew, surrounded by big guys, at least ten of them, stomping and kicking. He caught a glimpse of one of their faces, and recognized a Cent that Benny had warned him about. He then realized the weird guy drowning under them and waving his hand in the air like he was going down for the last time. Jo kicked off the wall and ran for the crowd, shouting, "Hey, get off'a him!" Then, he saw the flash of a knife in the dim light, and screamed blue murder. He knew how well his voice carried, how often it got him black eyes or bruised cheeks, but the thugs scattered like crows from the path of a speeding bus, and Jo got his arms around the weird skinny guy as he crumpled._

_He was pale and bruised, his lips nearly white already, blood running from a deep gash under his right eye. Jo felt ice cold sweat break over him, and shivered when he glanced down to the man's torso. Blood was spreading across the gray linen of his uniform shirt. Jo quickly took his shirt off and pressed it over the man's eye, then moved to take off the man's top. He ripped the wet fabric wide open, revealing the extent of the damage. Rings of his guts spilled from the gaping slice. Jo heaved, but loosed the pressure on his eye to hold his belly together. Then, he made himself look away. "Hey, hey, buddy. Lookit me. I know you got one eye still working-" The man's undamaged eyelid twitched, his eyelashes brushing the fold of Jo's shirt where it was left over his face. Jo tugged his shirt aside, then patted it down over the wound and smiled when he opened his eye. "There ya go. That's good." His eye was bright green, greener than any glass, the sort of green he only ever saw on television or in colorized black-and-white movies, and Jo smiled a little more when his pupil dilated and focused on him. "I'll find your glasses in a sec, and that'll be way better. You're gonna be okay." He ran his hand over his fine, thin cheekbones, then up his forehead and pushed the man's shaggy hair back. He winced when he saw his own hand, and slipped: "Shit, you're covered in blood."_

_Shockingly, the man laughed. "You're... covered in blood too..." He touched Jo's hair, grasped it in a limp hand, then fell flat to the ground. Jo sputtered, then lifted his voice and shouted for help until it came._

* * *

_Jo had occupied the flimsy plastic chair in the infirmary so long he was pretty sure there was a groove the exact shape of his skinny ass flattened into the molded texture. The man he'd picked up had been out for four solid days after the surgery to put his insides back inside of him. He wasn't sure what had happened to the thugs who'd gone for him, but like hell if he'd let any of them get another chance. He'd made a pretty good watcher for Benny, might as well use those skills for a positive purpose. He at least knew now what had happened to the skinny guy over the past few days._

_He'd sweated through fevers as infection raged in him. He'd barely opened his eyes, not even to eat, and drank only what was forced down his throat or into his veins. Jo had kept cool compresses on him, changed the bandages on that nasty wound on his belly and pasted over his eye, and talked to him quietly, in case he could hear him._

_"You sure don't look like you belong here. What sorta thing would someone like you do? Lemme guess, couldn't pay a parking ticket?" He chuckled to himself, and the man's eyelashes fluttered. Jo moved to change the washcloth on his forehead again, but this time, when his fingers brushed the clammy skin, the man recoiled, pressing his head into the paper pillowcase. His eye opened again, but this time, the left one focused on Jo, the pupil still dilated. Jo waited on the edge of his seat as the man blinked a few times, his breathing labored, his pale complexion barely taking on a hint of rosy life, before realizing he might have to jump-start the conversation._

_"Hey, man, welcome back to being awake!" The man's visible eyebrow wrought, as if surprised to even be alive. Jo didn't blame him. "So, hey, you remember me?" The man nodded. "Uh, you know what's goin' on?" This got a shake "no," and Jo drummed his fingers nervously on the arm of his chair. "Guess I..." He glanced back, but none of the other orderlies were anywhere near their stall. Jo reached behind him and pulled the curtain that walled this bed off from the rest of the room around. "Um, you got jumped. By a bunch of gangbangers. You kinda got shivved in the gut, but they sent you to the hospital and put you back together, and now you're recovering in the sick wing of the prison." The man's eyebrows furrowed up into an uneasy frown, but Jo grinned and put a little extra brass in his tones. "But hey! I was worried about you, after seeing that happen, so I requested to be allowed to take care of ya! And since I've had good behavior, they let me! So, I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure you can go get back to whatever it is you do when you're out of here." The strange man bit his upper lip and lowered his head, and Jo craned his neck down to try to force eye contact. "Uh, so, I'm Joel Sha. Friends call me Jo. Just J-O, though, it's kind of a thing..." He waited for the other man to answer him, but all he got was the same fish-eyed stare. He tried to think of how else to prompt the guy to tell him anything. "Uh, I like rock music, and movies, and going on trips..." Great, now he sounded like he was going on 'Let's Make a Date.' Screw this."Anyway, what's your name?"_

_The man struggled, his raspy breath audible in his throat, but he shook his head. Jo frowned; maybe there was something wrong with his voice. "Uh, how are you feeling? I mean, pretty crappy, I'd guess from lookin' atcha, but are you in pain? Need more painkillers, or maybe some water?"_

_This got an enthusiastic nod, and Jo grabbed the styrofoam cup of ice he'd kept around and passed it to the man. He took a few enthusiastic gulps, then sank back onto the cushion. "Th-thank you." He still looked impossibly distraught, his brow knit up, his hands clutching the blanket that covered him. Still, at least Jo knew he could talk._

_"So, uh, maybe you can tell me your name now?" This got a whimper, and the man's face sank again. Jo sighed. He could talk, but he either couldn't or wouldn't answer. "Look, I, uh, I tried to talk to you before, and you kinda walked away, and I get the feeling that if you were feeling any better, you'd walk away from me now, too, so, I gotta ask. If you don't want me here, then I can, y'know, go."_

_"P-please don't." The man set his wide green eyes on Jo, pupils trembling, the rest of him shaking along. "I... I'm... not... good..." He managed to weakly gesture between them. "M-medicine. I... I need..." He closed his hand in a loose fist and imitated writing something. Jo nodded, and darted out of the curtained cubicle to find a pencil and paper. The skinny man hurriedly jotted down a list of medications, his hands trembling the whole time. "I... I need," he repeated, as he held the page out to Jo, his cracked lips hanging open as he struggled to breathe, to talk, to think. "I'm lost."_

_Jo squinted at the list- he didn't recognize any of it- but nodded. "I'll ask the nurses. Don't you go nowhere, okay? I'll be right back." The man bowed his head a few times, and Jo heard him whispering gratitude in his breathy, shaky voice._

_The nurses were gossiping near a few of the unoccupied beds when Jo approached them. He held out the list. "Hey, uh, the guy who got stabbed said he needs these."_

_The head nurse, with her thick jowls and beady eyes, took and squinted at the list. "He's not begging for oxy?" The assistant looked over the list as well, pursing her lips in thought._

_"Those are antipsy..." She tugged the other nurse's arm. "We better make sure he gets them." The two of them walked away, leaving Jo befuddled in their wake. He only caught a little more of what the head nurse was saying:_

_"On a dosage this high, we're lucky he's not more dangerous than the guys who put him in here."_

_Jo wondered, of course, but hell, the skinny bastard hadn't done much more than shake like a leaf. The next morning, though, when Jo showed up for duty, there was a paper cup of pills on his patient's breakfast tray._

_The next day was spent with the thin man shivering and hugging his own arms, twitching when Jo changed his bandages, and forcing only one or two word answers to his or anyone else's questions. The day after, however, he had stilled and calmed, and when Jo entered with a book under his arm, he immediately inquired in a tremulous voice, "D-do you read often?"_

_"Oh, this?" Jo held the book up: a GED study prep. "I kinda gotta read this. I'm not much for reading, it makes my head hurt."_

_The man squinted at the cover, and Jo held it closer. It was as he held it just in front of the man's face Jo realized that he hadn't shrunk from Jo's hand. At the same time, it was the first thing he'd said without being prompted. The man slowly lifted his face again, this time to examine Jo. "Y-you said you're Joel?"_

_"Yup, Jo."_

_"Why didn't you finish school, Joel?" His tone was still uneven, raspy, strained, but he seemed to have a focus, and that made his mouth move._

_Jo wished he had a better answer to give for that kind of determination. He just shrugged._ _"I didn't have a place to live, so I didn't have a school to go to." The man's expression was unreadable, blank, but his brow was raised and his lips were pressed thin with intense thought. Jo frowned, and added, "I had some classes in juvy, and now I'm actually trying to get a diploma. I ain't gonna be in here forever, y'know?" Jo grinned and took his usual seat. "How 'bout you? You still in school?"_

_"I... I was in college." His face fell, but he slowly extended his hand to touch the book again. "If you like, I'll help you study."_

_"You will?" Jo raised his eyebrows. "Shit, uh, thanks. You sure you wanna waste time on m-"_

_"If you can find my glasses, I'll be much more useful."_

_Jo found where his glasses had ended up, and set them in the man's bony hand. "I'm real sorry about them." The man held them up and squinted, to see that the right lens was cracked, and he could see the triangular shard that had been knocked out and into his face. "I don't know why they haven't replaced it, but you still got that big cut anyway, do you think-"_

_"This should be fine." He put them on, and granted Jo a pleasant smile. He looked whole behind even the incomplete frames, though still pale and blue-lipped and with one eye still covered, and he folded his trembling hands on his lap. "Why don't you tell me what you're struggling with?"_

_Jo chuckled and opened the book, shaking his head. "Here I thought I was helping you."_

_The man ran his eye over the page, already relaxing into the lines of text and diagrams. "You are."_

_Jo brought a few random books from the library the next day, because the guy clearly liked books. He'd read Jo's study guide cover to cover during their meals. He managed short conversations with Jo, outside of discussing the study material, usually about the books Jo had brought him. "Have you read this one? What did you think of-"_

_"I haven't, but tell me all about it and then I can think about it." Jo spun the chair around and settled in, and the man flipped to the first page._

_"I suppose... we begin at the beginning, with a man named Lockwood traveling to the moors of Britain..." Jo let his chin sink to rest on the back of the chair, as the man discussed the opening few chapters of the novel. He hadn't cared much about books before, and maybe he didn't now, but the man came alive with the text in his lap._

_With his GED study done early, the next day, Jo sneaked in a deck of cards to play with while his patient napped. He had different ideas, his good eye lingering on the lump in Jo's pocket from the moment he sat down. He seemed affixed to it as Jo checked his bandages, and the two went through mundane small talk. Then, he touched the lump with a light, gentle tap. "This isn't a bruise, is it?"_

_"Nah." Jo tugged his pocket to let him see. "Contraband." He winked and sat back, but the man leaned conspiratorially close._

_"What do you do with them?"_

_Jo sat back, a little bewildered at the question. "Uh, what else do you do with 'em? Play games." He tugged the curtain around, walling them off. "I can teach ya poker."_

_He showed him the first round, using torn up pieces of Styrofoam cup as chips, much to the patient's delight. "I've only ever heard about things like this," he remarked, clearly charmed as he drew a Queen, then turned his hand around. "Tell me, is this a good hand?"_

_Jo looked from the Queen, to the King, Jack, Ace, and Ten beside it, and narrowed his eyes in a jealous smirk. "What you got there, buddy, is what they call 'beginner's luck.' That's a real good hand." Anyone else, he would have been pissed, but the skinny man clearly was genuinely curious about the game, and wasn't lording it over Jo. Instead, he merely seemed content, and peeked over at Jo's hand to ask how his straight flush was different._

_He taught Jo the difference between inference and assumption. Jo taught him poker. The one thing he wanted to learn was his quiet new friend's name. He would have asked, but damn if he wouldn't have felt weird by now. The uncomfortable expression he'd worn, the obvious struggle he had with any question about himself that was more complicated than "how ya feelin' today?" told Jo that pushing was a bad idea._

_Besides, it would have been like pushing sand. There wasn't much to the guy. He tired easily, he got headaches from the damage to his eye and from having to squint with the other. The infection in his wounds flared up over and over, he spent days in fever or zoned out on antibiotics and painkillers. Jo sat with him nonetheless, engaging him in small conversations. Little things, things he didn't have to think too hard about._

_"Did you read a lot in school?" This garnered a nod, and Jo rocked back the chair, teetering on the two back legs, then forward. "Got any favorites?"_

_"I..." His voice was raspy and strained, but he managed a smile through his exhaustion. "Like... American lit... Nineteenth century British literature... Classics..." He dozed for a moment, and Jo leaned forward to touch his forehead. He was steaming hot, fever burning through him, but he still lifted his face just to get a little more contact. His smile broadened. "Not... picky..."_

_"No? Seems like all you're interested in right now is anything cooler than you." He chuckled, and the patient hummed back into the warm, rolling tempo of the noise, but managed to open his good eye for a moment._

_"Perhaps... bring me a copy of Moby Dick... or an analysis of the sinking of the Titanic."_

_Those tiny talks told him a lot. Jo soon had a list of books the patient called his favorite, and he started to bring them to him from the prison library in stacks in lieu of 'whatever they have.' Turned out he had a taste for older books, so there were dog-eared, yellow-paged copies of everything he mentioned, and when he was well, he'd sit up with them in his lap and devour them without speaking for hours on end. Jo couldn't stay all the time, especially not when the guy wasn't catatonic with sickness, but he found he could go to lunch and the exercise yard and come back to find he hadn't moved, only the stack of pages he'd read building up against the front cover. The patient would glance up, his eye roving him quickly in silent assessment, then smile._

_Jo was starting to like that smile. He got the feeling the smile wasn't always real, like when the nurses gave him his cup of medicine or his meal tray, but when it hit Jo, it felt nice._

_After about ten days, and after a second round of aggressive antibiotics, the patient began to read to Jo, and not just out of his GED textbook. Jo had gotten him a copy of Moby Dick, and he turned it over in his thin, wan hand a moment, before holding it up. "Have you read this one?"_

_Jo managed not to laugh, but plunked himself down in his usual chair and scooted it closer to the bed. "You know I'm still not all that hot with 'See Spot run.'"_

_"Nonsense, you're already up past Seuss and reading chapter titles." The patient giggled, but his smile faded as Jo forced a laugh and looked away. "I'm sorry, I'm merely teasing. But I suppose it makes sense that you haven't had an opportunity to read it. Would you like to?"_

_Jo apprised the book by size, and felt his brow wrinkle. "Uh, it looks kinda dense. Not so sure it's a 'read-with-me' kinda story."_

_"I could read the first chapter or so. If you like it, we'll keep going. We have time." The man's hand fell, significantly, onto his sunken stomach, and Jo could all but see the bandage patched over his guts. The patient quickly smiled again, as if taping it over his own emotions, and pushed his glasses up his nose to draw Jo's focus back to his face. "If you don't like it, we can try another. As many as you like."_

_"I dunno, I'm way more into movies than books." Jo picked up a hint of a frown at this, but spun his chair around and pushed it even closer. "But there's plenty of movies based off books, right? So, maybe this'll be good. I'll try it." He grinned, and the patient matched it with his own tight-pressed little smile._

_"Only as long as you want to." He held the book and pressed it between his hands, considering it. "I want you to close your eyes, for just a moment, and put yourself on a ship, one as big a truck and as broad as this room, rocking in the center of the ocean." Jo, gamely, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine it. Like the movies, with the boat going back and forth, the floor tilting. "The wind is in your hair, and casts it wildly around you. You smell the sea air, like salt and wind, like being on the bay but without the underlying stench of garbage and dead fish. It's fresh, bright. Deep, cerulean blue surrounds you below, bright sky above, as far as the eye can see." The patient spoke a little faster, the excitement urging him onward. "Then, you feel the boat rock, the whole floor below you casting aside. Your natural balance staggers your legs but catches you, you stand and stumble back and forth. White-crested waves rise up around you, the sky roaring with clouds like billowing smoke, the ocean growls. There twenty other men hurrying around you, tugging the ropes to haul the sails into place, fighting the gods' will with their own and that of their tiny craft. You are small in the face of the ocean, but think, just think, of the great things that lurk beneath you, of the beasts below, the unfathomable. And you, so small in the face of nature's wonder, ask yourself, who even am I?" And there, the man flipped the book to the first page. "Call me Ishmael."_

_Jo had no idea where three hours went, but somehow, when the buzzer went off to summon Jo for lockdown, they were a third of the way in and Jo had learned more than he thought he wanted to know about what it was to be a sailor in the way-back-when. He'd also somehow moved his chair all the way to the top of the bed, the patient's shoulder nudging his chest, and Jo's hand had somehow landed behind him. He groaned at the klaxon, but sat up. "We gotta keep reading it. It's actually really good. I mean, I don't do words so much. For me, it's easier with pictures." He scratched his head and ducked down sheepishly. "But then you read it, and you talk about it, and the pictures are in your head. I can see 'em." He managed eye contact again, only to see that the man's cheeks were as pink as summer roses, and he was wearing a ridiculously pleased smile behind the book._

_"I'm so glad you think so. And... if you like pictures so much, then I'd be happy to watch a movie with you sometime. I've never cared for them, but I imagine you can change my mind. Perhaps when I get moved back to the general population, if they hold a movie night." He fidgeted. "Or..."_

_"Jo," one of the guards grunted from the door, and Jo got to his feet with a groan._

_"Hold that thought, buddy." He winked. "We got plenty of time to plan a movie night." He sauntered for the door, his smile turning sour the further he stepped from his patient's bed. Leaving hurt._

_"Patient" had gradually been replaced with "pal," "buddy," or even "dude," and Jo was caring less and less that he didn't know his name. He was more interested in everything else in his new friend's head, because for once, he had a friend that wasn't just someone who would help him get something to eat, or to help him survive, or who felt obligated to care for him. He had someone he could talk to, and someone who actually wanted to listen to what he had to say. Even that caught him up sometimes._

_"It's good you're so smart," he muttered to his patient one morning, three weeks, four infections, and two novels after the incident, as his friend illustrated how to unpack an algebra problem (because Jo was pretty okay with numbers, but the letters tripped him right the fuck up). "You'll be set when you get out again. Bet you'll go right back to college and be fine. Hey, what do you want to do when you get out?" He glanced up from the book, as the patient furrowed his brow. His expressions were often unreadable, but with less bandages on his eye as the wound recovered, Jo was getting more of a sense of his face, and even when he was frowning, it was always a nice face to look at. He always seemed to be deep in thought, though. Jo wished he could just think like that._

_"I honestly haven't considered getting out yet." He pushed the notebook over to Jo. "I'm not sure how long I'll be here. In fact," and here was one of those fake smiles Jo was learning to pick out, "When the wounds ache and the infection flares up, sometimes I wonder if I'll get out at all." This forced a narrow-eyed scowl out of Jo, and he wagged a finger at his friend._

_"Don't talk like that. It's a jinx. You've been doing okay lately." He took the book from the skinny guy and turned it to face him, squinting at the deconstruction. "But seriously."_

_"In all seriousness, I'm not sure. I was going to school to work with computers before. Perhaps I'll return to it." He fidgeted, his eye tracing a path around his hands wrung in his lap. "As I said, I'm not sure. What about you?"_

_"Mm. Dunno. I mean, for me, I'll be in here another year, maybe, and after that, it's just a matter of staying straight. Not going back to jail. Don't really know what I want." Jo shrugged and didn't lift his head, until he realized the other man was expectantly watching him for more of an answer. "You really wanna know?"_

_"Of course I do."_

_"Huh." Jo scratched his head. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten the question before. He'd just never been pushed for a serious question. "It's kinda stupid."_

_"I'm certain you're the only one who would think so." He stopped wringing his hands to fold them. "Tell me. I'm curious."_

_"Well." Jo scratched his head. "I dunno about jobs, or where I'm gonna live, or any of that. I'm not good at anything-"_

_"Joel."_

_"-But I got something I wanna do, at least." Jo's shoulders slumped. "I've always kinda felt like I was looking for something, or someone, and I've never really known where it was. And I've lived in cities my whole life, so I feel like I haven't seen anything. So, one'a these days, I just wanna hop on a motorcycle and ride off, go as far as I can and see everything I can see, see it all, if I can." He grinned guiltily, bowing his head like he was just waiting for someone to scold him. Benny probably would have smacked him on the back and told him he was a goofball. This guy, he just listened patiently, his jaw hung just open, his mouth forming a little 'o.'_

_"It... it sounds lovely, but what will you do about money? How will you eat, where will you sleep?"_

_Jo shrugged. "I dunno. I'd figure something out. Take odd jobs wherever I ended up, something. I haven't thought about it that hard, but it's what I really wanna do. Just me and my Harley, seeing the whole world, free as a bird."_

_The patient's jaw shut and clenched, and Jo could see him thinking again. "Someone told me... birds, they're free to go wherever they please, but the freedom is in having somewhere they can return to." His shoulders slumped. "They're not forced to fly seeking land, so having something to return to is their freedom. Freedom from flight, I suppose."_

_Jo couldn't help but chuckle and slumped down in his chair. "You a poet or something?"_

_The other man blushed, and it was exactly as endearing as the last time Jo'd made him do it. "I... I enjoy such things, but would that I were. It's something a priest told me when I was young. He said it better than I did."_

_"Nah, I got the point." Jo dropped his book and crossed his arms. "So, is that your deal? Got something to return to?"_

_"No." The man stilled as if frozen, his expression blank, even his breathing seemingly ceased. "But... I had it, once. I miss it dearly."_

_"Yeah?" Jo's face fell. "Me too." He grimaced, and tapped the other guy's knee. "You can come with me. I'll get a sidecar, and you can ride with me, and we can be like a wandering handyman and computer repair guy duo thing, and we'll find something we wanna go back to."_

_This got a watery smile, and a quavering response: "That sounds lovely." The other man sniffled a little, and smiled weakly up at Jo again. Jo couldn't help but laugh and cross his arms._

_"We make a pair, don't we?"_

_The other man nodded, his whole face brightening as if the sun had shone on him for the first time in a long while. "That we do."_

_After about a month, Jo had stopped marking days by how long it had been since it rained, and instead by what chapter of the book they were on, what they were going to study next, how many hours until he got to visit him again. The only reason he cared about the rain at all was that his new friend got a little more serious and morose when rain was falling on the window, and Jo just had to do that much more to earn those sweet little smiles, break out every ounce of charm he had. It was worth it. Those smiles were more fulfilling than anything else he'd had since he'd gotten to jail, or juvy, or for almost as long as he could remember. Plus- and this was the really nice part- his buddy obviously wanted him around as much as he wanted to be there. He never had an unkind or judgmental word to say. Even if Jo made a mistake and tugged on his stitches while cleaning the wound on his stomach, or pushed too hard, he didn't complain. He acted glum when Jo had to leave, too. Jo secretly kind of liked it: someone who missed him, and wanted him to come back. Even if that someone was bed-bound and even more of a prisoner than he was. When he was in that worn-out chair, behind the curtain, whether it was playing cards, reading together, or just shooting the shit, even if it was raining, being with his friend was like seeing light from the bottom of a deep hole. One smile made his skin and hair feel warm. Jo wasn't sure this was what friendship was really like, but he knew he wanted more. In a way, he needed this new routine._

_Which was why it was too weird when he came into the infirmary one morning when the rain was drumming the ceiling and walls and the sky was gray, to find that all of the other patients had been moved out, and the curtain was drawn around his patient's bed. Nurses and orderlies were bustling about, along with police officers and men in white jackets, and one young, grouchy-looking blond man wearing a priest's cassock, just like out of the old movies. Jo weaved his way through and tried to push through the curtain, but the priest whipped around and caught him by the arms. "What are you doing?" His lip curled, and Jo smelled cigarettes off him. Jo threw his hand off._

_"I was gonna check on him. I've been changing his bandages and keeping him company. What are you doing?"_

_The priest studied him, his eyes slit with fierce concentration, then spat, "Delivering Last Rites. We're preparing to move the body now."_

_The floor crumbled out from beneath Jo, and it was only reality that kept him from tumbling into the abyss. "B... body?"_

_The priest had turned away with a grimace. "He died overnight of a sudden infection."_

_"That's bullshit, no way!" Jo threw his fists to his side, cold sweat soaking him. "I was good, I was careful! I cleaned and drained that gash exactly like the nurses told me, he was doing real good! He hadn't been sick in a week—"_

_"I told you," the priest growled, his fist clenching, his knuckles turning white. "It was very sudden and insidious. He's dead."_

_"That's just—" Jo tried to push past him again, but one of the policemen seized him and pulled him back. "He was fine! I took good care of him! I-" His throat was working against him now, his eyes starting to ache. "Where did I go wrong? I was nice to him! He- he was my friend, dammit, he can't be gone!"_

_"Shut up." The priest seized and squeezed his collar. "Shit happens. People die. You're alive, so start getting past this and get on with what you still have."_

_"Get out of my fucking face!" More guards rushed for Jo at his outburst, but he wasn't lunging, he was shaking. "You're the worst fucking priest... 'just get over it,' fuck you! Why did he have to leave?!" He didn't even resist as his arms were lashed back behind him, as they cuffed him and dragged him back, he only kicked and thrashed as he was pulled away, with the priest impassively staring on as he melted down. "I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't do anything wrong this time! Why the fuck-" The infirmary door shut in front of him, and Jo broke: "FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!"_

_Jo sat in his cell for three days. He moved for the klaxons, buzzers and bells, but he didn't eat, he didn't bother with the shower. Left in his cell, he stared out the window. When forced into the yard, he stared at the sky. He didn't talk, didn't resist, he didn't do anything. Guards started to watch him after they noticed his strange behavior, even debating calling the psych hospital, until he was actually heard to speak again._

_"It rained three days ago. I wonder when it'll rain again."_

_Maybe the pain of losing someone else had just taken a chunk of his brain on vacation. It had never been good for much anyway. But somehow, Jo buried that pain under his stubborn resolve to live like he had before, unbound, only for these scant memories to be unearthed when it rained..._

* * *

Rain swept against the windows with an almighty rush and roar. The journal was still in Jo's lap, Harley's letter faced him, unchanging, but his hands shook. He looked down at his own hands as the stoplight outside of his window blinked red, and splashed him with the color of blood. He threw the book down and shivered. "What... fuck... shit..."

How had he not thought about him except for those scraps of nightmares? He didn't remember the soft but angular jaw, the dark shag of hair, the eyes as green as glass, as forests, greener than anything in his prison-bar-and-gore life. He had shoved all of that under so it couldn't ache in him, so it wouldn't hurt, but when it came back and stared him in the face, he'd looked right through it.

"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh..." He groaned and grasped his head. "That was... this whole time... did you..."

"Nightmare?" Jo nearly jumped out of his skin, until he realized that voice wasn't his. He spun around to see a shadow against the window, a slim-shouldered figure black against the red light from outside but for the glowing cherry of a cigarette against the shade. Jo blinked a few times, as Neil Jenning resolved in his view, sitting on the edge of his bed with a familiar smirk. "You were sitting there with your head down for a good hour. You didn't even hear me come in." He dragged on his cigarette, as if he knew Jo needed a moment to collect himself. Sure enough, Jo struggled for a long moment before finding anything.

"You... how?" He wanted to get his hackles up, but he couldn't muster up anything past confusion. Jenning exhaled a smoke ring, then extinguished his cigarette on the sill behind him.

"Oh, simple." He shook his cellphone, and Jo's gaze followed the bunny charm dangling from the top. "I put a GPS tracker on you last time we spoke, since I figured I might need you again sometime, and it took me right to you. I found your door open, and took it as an invitation- much obliged, of course." He winked. "And you just looked so comfortable there, I figured I'd just wait until you woke up." He chuckled, and Jo tried to sink through the floor. "Guess I should've woken you."

Jo couldn't make himself move, instead settling back and folding his arms tight. Jenning whistled a little, and took out another cigarette and lit up. Jo would have asked for one, but he didn't have the will to move his mouth. Jenning made an odd noise, something like a chuckle but very close to a growl. "You know, I've had my eye on you. Had to keep an eye on dear Gabriel, after all, and couldn't help but notice you. The more I found out, the more you interested me. You are a fascinating boy." He dragged deep, taking the smoke all the way into his lungs. "Your patchy past, your penchant for trouble, a lot of wasted potential. And yet, you've picked strange company if you wanted to make something of yourself."

"What do you want from me?" Jo rubbed his eyes with both hands, pressing on them until he saw green spots, then trying to scrub the image away.

"I like you. I want to make my offer in person." Jenning sat forward, and Jo slumped. "No more of this wishy-washy business, no more half-and-half. If you're going to be something, then be it. Join me."

Jo winced. "Why?"

"Why?" Jenning's eyebrows raised with his inflection, smirking at the question. Jo couldn't tell if that was good or bad. His glasses glinted in the lamp from outside, and between the dark hair obscuring some of his eyes, the smile that didn't go away, and that gaze piercing through him from Harley's bed, Jo was starting to get incredibly uncomfortable.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to bust out G. Maoh?" He folded his arms tight to stave off a shiver. "The guy's a monster. If he gets out and unifies the gangs, it'll take an army to stop 'em."

"Will it? I wonder." Jenning rubbed his chin in thought, his light, contemplative tone simply bouncing off of the weight of what he was suggesting. "I suppose I'm curious." Jenning gestured over his shoulder. "This city, this place behind me, it's been the way it has for as long as I can remember, and certainly as long as you can remember. It's painfully boring, so boring it aches."

"Then leave."

Jenning laughed. "Will any other city be any different? Nothing changes anywhere. Things that don't change bore me, and besides, you and I both know that the way things are is no good. I tried to change it." He took another drag off of his smoke, and blew a few smoke rings. "Knowledge, philosophy, I explored both. It was always, teach who you can, as few at a time as you have to, in both respects. It doesn't work. Science, religion, it's all varying levels of bullshit. You can show someone patterns in human behavior, in genetics, and clear data on how it all correlates with the mind and the progress of our world, but people raise helpless hands at the forces of nature, 'it's just how things are.' You can tell someone the word of God, but God is either too big or too dark for fools to grasp beyond 'just be good.' How we ever made it forty years in the desert with Him as guide mystifies, and that's if you believe such a thing occurred at all. I learned science and religion to understand and advance man, to tinker with the workings of our minds, but people are just too stupid to follow any kind of progress." Jenning smashed his cigarette again, took another from the box, but didn't light it. "You want to know what changes people? Fear."

"So, what, you just gonna scare people into doing the right thing?"

"Ha! You say that as if there were objective 'right' and 'wrong.' It's only what is, and what isn't." Jenning gestured, the unlit cigarette tucked neatly between his fingers. "God has a devil. That's what gives him power. There's something just as big as him, and as bad and wicked as he is good and just. That's the only way the simpletons can understand his power, and why to listen to him. G. Maoh is a devil who was willing to take action. First man I've ever seen who was really willing to change things, but that was nearly fifteen years ago." Jenning lit his cigarette. "Then, Connor Steele showed just how much one man could change things by doing nearly nothing but standing his ground like a lighthouse in a fog."

"Fuck. I thought that might've been him that did that, from everything everyone's told me." Jo smeared his hand down his face, grieving for a man he didn't know and only now knew as a hero. "That was you, wasn't it? He put Maoh in the slammer, so you sent your goon through his window to knock him off."

Something seemed to snap in Jenning, his shoulders going stiff and setting back, the posture of a growling dog but a voice as hard as stone. "I had nothing to do with that." From the way he said it, Jo wanted to believe it, but Jo knew he couldn't trust much in his mind anymore. Jenning, however, loosened up again the click of his lighter and a long pull on his cigarette. "Don't know why you'd think I'd kill someone interesting." He actually smirked at Jo, eyes glinting. "Connor Steele died not too long after Maoh got put away, and without anyone interesting and nothing changing, I got bored again. So I began to tinker. That's what I love best about science, anyway. I like to take things apart, just to see them put back together. And this city was surprisingly easy to dissemble." Jo shivered, watching the cherry of his cigarette glow in little embers, Jenning's limber fingers tightly grasped around it. Jo could almost imagine him working his fingers into the knots and bindings that kept the city together. "So, I got under all the layers and into the heart of things, working my way through a system that so badly wants not to change. If it takes chaos to make things interesting, then chaos it is. If nothing else..." He threw his hands up, tossing his head back with a carefree smile. "It'll be fun, won't it?"

Jo stared through him as if facing a black hole. The son of a bitch was doing it for fun.

"But we're not here for me, are we?" Jenning sat forward again, the whites of his eyes glinting behind his glasses. "I came here for you. I came here because you're a curiosity too. You seem to slide under the radar, but everything I've learned about you has just fascinated me."

Jo shoved his hand up into his hair and squeezed his scalp. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know me."

"You'd be surprised what I can find out through a little bit of gossip and a public records request. After that, it's just a matter of putting the pieces together." Jenning seemed to be moving closer to him, his gaze pinning Jo to the spot, but he remained in Harley's spot, his smile unshifting. "I know you don't have any other options. I know that the police are already looking for you, and those parole violations, well, you know how those work. Prison's got revolving doors, don'cha know?" Jenning whistled in mock wonder. "If you had some allies, you might be able to evade and avoid. But here you are, in an empty apartment, staring into space, and I get the feeling you don't have much else." Jo scoffed and made himself look away from Jenning, but Jenning slid closer to Jo, on the very edge of the bed, within arm's breadth of him. "It's very simple, Jo. You can either be on the right side of the wave, or you can get swallowed by it."

Jo braced and clenched his hands where he'd folded them, and Jenning clicked his tongue. "Penny for your thoughts."

"You don't- you don't actually realize just how many people are gonna get killed?"

"And you'd never taste a steak dinner if we hesitated to slaughter useless, stupid cattle. Death is part of life."

"Yeah, I'm getting the feeling you don't care about that sorta thing." Jo grimaced, the disgust making his saliva curdle. "People, lives, all that..."

"You sound as if I've personally offended you."

If Jenning already knew, there was no point in dancing around it. "You ripped a woman to pieces."

"Actually, he considers himself male. And you know, it wasn't my first option. I tried to talk to him." Jenning shook his head. "Tried to make him see my way. But there comes a point where you simply have nothing left to say to someone."

"You talked to Steele too. Guess he didn't sing for you, neither. You were gonna kill the monkey." He lifted his face and managed a glare. "You had your goon shoot Gage."

This got a delighted smile out of Jenning. "Oh, the child, is that what's got you hung up?" Jo cringed, because he got the feeling he'd given Jenning more slack than he had to. Jenning tapped his cigarette, ash sprinkling onto the carpet and his pant leg. "What's one little boy in the grand scheme? He's not particularly special, useful, or intelligent. I see no reason to get so upset over a past threat to his life."

"That kid's my friend. He's like a little brother to me."

Jenning considered this, contemplating the tip of his cigarette. "Interesting." Jo's gut wrenched, because that was the kind of interest Jo just plain didn't like. "You know, many gang members refer to their gang as their family, perhaps because their biological families are disappointments, but maybe because they want to forge that familial trust. Trust with one another's lives and interests."

"What's your point?"

"My point is, you could have chosen your kin, countrymen, your people, as it were, as your family." Jenning tapped his cigarette into the ashtray beside the couch, deliberately avoiding Jo's wide-eyed stare. "But instead, you chose a malcontent priest, a monkey, and a murderer. What a strange world." He chuckled, as something in Jo's chest twisted around, and Jenning gestured with his cigarette, the burning end too close to Jo's face. "Oh, and stepping in to keep Shalimar from drowning in his own blood, there's a mystery. He never said a kind word to you, and you knew very well how he got those injuries, not to mention the chance that someone might come to finish the job. You're terribly lucky I like you, and that him being alive is inconsequential to my plans." Jenning chuckled again. "I'm not sure what you hoped to accomplish. After all, you were complicit in his beating. Just the same, you could have warned Gabriel and his little ward much sooner, and perhaps he would have avoided the gun. In fact, nothing has stopped you from turning in every man you've seen, spelling out every name you knew, and yet you chose only to save her." Jenning laughed, the noise more humorless than before, as empty as Jo's slack jaw. "Do you honestly think pity and mercy are enough to save your soul? Tell me, what is it you want, Joel Sha?"

And Jo didn't have an answer. He couldn't think about it. There was so much, and so little he could express about it. He stared Jenning up and down, his limber form against his bed, and his throat went completely dry. He folded his arms, feeling like a small child, and finally mumbled, "I just want things to go back to how they were. I'm just a guy trying to get through, I had an okay life, and I want that back."

"That life is dead. Look around you." Jenning gestured, and Jo did look. The room felt completely empty, even with the two of them in it, like the black hole had opened from Jenning's mouth and swallowed what little of Jo was left. "It's long since gone, sure as if you'd hit it with a car or put a bullet through it." Jenning gave what sounded like an exhausted sigh, but Jo knew it was pretense, and sickeningly sarcastic. "You see, this is what I mean by wasted potential. Think of everything you could have, but because you're so scared of it getting away from you, you throw it away first. But if you really want this, and only this?" Jenning rose to a stand and held his hands out, as if he saw the very same black hole Jo did, or something worse that Jo couldn't. "Things that don't change are worse than boring. Stagnation is death, and if you choose to stagnate, then you're already dead." He loomed, and Jo swallowed thickly. Jenning just stared right through him, still smirking. "Your choice is simple, Joel. Stand at my side, or wait for oblivion to swallow you whole." He walked past Jo, not sparing him another glance, but dropping the stub of the cigarette into Jo's sink as he passed. "You have until sundown tomorrow. I'll let you get back to whatever it was you weren't doing."

The door clicked shut, and Jo found himself alone. Trapped in a tiny box, as scrambled as an unwound VCR tape, he held his head tight as he felt the last scrap of his defenses tear away. He tried to breathe, but couldn't. His hands shaking, he worked his cell phone out of his pocket and found Harley's name in his contacts. An old draft stared back at him. He hit 'send.'

He retyped the message, and sent it again.

And again.

And again.

_I don't hate you._

_I don't hate you._

_I don't hate you._

_I don't hate you._

_I'm so sorry._

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and jumped to his feet, his heart still racing, his mind inverted and gone.

Jenning was right. He couldn't go on like this.

He rushed out of his apartment and into the streets, his hair flowing down his shoulders like hot blood and his bones soaking through as he lost himself in the downpour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 12/27/15: PISS PUPPIES. I forgot! The song Jo is singing in the opening scene of the chapter is "People are Strange" by the Doors, though I sincerely prefer the Echo and the Bunnymen cover. 
> 
> The books Greg/Harley references are "Wuthering Heights" (his mention of Lockwood traveling the English moors) and "Moby Dick."


	29. Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley admits a few things to Steele.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

Steele knew he was in the chapel, because he knew he kept those doors shut tight, and yet they'd somehow been left ajar. He just hadn't had an opportunity to do anything about it. Now that Gage had managed to calm Haku down from one of his feather-blowing tantrums, and now sat cuddled in Gage's hands, he thought he might have a chance. "Don't fall asleep," he instructed firmly, as Gage seated himself on Steele's bed and Steele piled pillows up around him. Gage rolled his eyes, but set his elbows on his legs with Haku secured between his hands.

"I told you, I'm feelin' a lot better. If I start getting drowsy, I'll be sure to put him away."

"You'd best." With that, Steele left Gage to comfort Haku, and strode into the sanctuary. The room was dark, lit only by the gleam of passing headlights and the flickering streetlights over the fence, and a chilly draft gusted under all the old windows. Steele could still visualize the shattered window, the image of Christ feeding the multitudes to the right of the altar. He knew it always felt coldest there, the shadow of his memories giving him a chill, but at the next flash of light through it, a different shadow shuddered in the pew. Steele strode up the aisle and took his seat beside a shivering Harley. His teeth chattered, he rubbed his arms and elbows, he pressed his knees together tight, and his eyes darted here and there on the ground. He didn't acknowledge that Steele was there. Steele glowered, unnoticed, and finally spoke.

"Your bird misses you. He's been flitting around his cage, beating his wings on the bars until he sheds feathers, and squawking incessantly. You're lucky Gage has a way with animals."

This got a reaction. "I'm so sorry. Terribly sorry. Where are my manners?" Each word fell flat as paper and the sentiment just as thin. "I'll apologize to him. I will. Forgive me." Harley clapped his jaw shut tight again, and Steele scowled and turned his shoulders to face him. Harley looked blue and pale, but the skin of his hands was stark white. His shirt was wrinkled and misbuttoned, his collar rumpled, he twitched under the harsh scrutiny. He spoke, suddenly: "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Steele raised an eyebrow, but Harley continued in a rush, "It has been seven weeks since my last confession. It seems I am incorrigible."

Steele raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but turned away from Harley and folded his hands on his lap. "Fine. Confess. Is this something with your roommate?"

"I... forced him." Harley shuddered. "He'll deny it, but I coerced him into performing sexual acts with me."

Steele kept himself from starting, but cleared his throat and unclasped and clasped his hands. "Sexual acts."

"You don't sound surprised."

"He told me that you two had been..." Intimate was wrong. Together was worse. "He said something along those lines happened. He didn't say it was forced."

"The dear man." Harley smiled wryly. "He lied for me. He won't admit it to himself. I know what I've done." He lifted his shaking hands to scrub them down his eyes. "I've strung him along. I knew the moment I saw him again what I was getting into, and a moment later that he certainly didn't. He couldn't." Harley sniffled suddenly, his inhale stuttered, his voice tangled with anguish. "I wish I had died. If only you had been telling him the truth when you told him I had... Oh, Joel, did it hurt?"

_Joel, wonderful Joel, he was permitted entrance to the infirmary after the morning klaxon, and usually made it there within all of five minutes. He'd throw back the curtain, his dazzling red hair combed behind his ears, his broad smile lighting his face and the whole world, and already going for gloves to clean his wounds. He, still nameless, rested behind the curtain, long awake and waiting for his friend to arrive with his breakfast tray. He struggled to understand his emotions under the muting effects of the medicine and the residue of his remaining trauma, only enough to know that he struggled because of it, and yet, something shone through when he came face to face with the man who'd saved his life._

_When the curtain was flung open once again, twenty minutes too early, he still put on a pleasant smile, the most he could offer Joel, and opened his mouth to greet him. Instead, he was met by a face he'd known from before. Father Steele stared dispassionately at him from the end of his bed, and his mouth fell open. He recovered, roughly, "Good morning."_

_"Good God, you've been here all along." Steele threw the curtain shut, and he, dumbfounded, imagined it was only that because one couldn't slam a curtain._

_He sat behind the closed curtain, entirely by himself with no human interaction except for a very cautious nurse leaving his medicine and a bowl of oatmeal, before hurrying away. He heard Steele hissing at the doctors and the prison wardens, demanding to know how nobody had contacted his attorney, contacted him, how the mix-up had happened in the first place. He only faintly understood how he'd gotten to where he was in the first place from bits of their conversation: clerical error that had him shipped from holding to the jail rather than the state hospital, or possibly sabotage, but with no proof for anything. He learned his fate through the vinyl: he was being shipped to the mental hospital to continue recuperation, post haste._

_Then, he saw the curtain shake, and heard Father Steele: "What are you doing?"_

_"I was gonna check on him." There was Joel. He felt his heart crumple a little. "I've been changing his bandages and keeping him company. What are you doing?"_

_He shivered when he heard Father Steele's reply: "Delivering Last Rites. We're preparing to move the body now."_

_He had to be dead. He had to be dead to everyone. It was almost just as well that he'd been so grievously injured, because there was going to be a death certificate for the man he used to be. He had expected one when he'd been attacked as it stood, or when he did finally get to the asylum and got a few moments of alone time with bedsheets or a trash bag, he just never expected he might be able to look it up. He hadn't thought he might make some sort of friend between his first death and the one he'd bring on himself. He could see Jo's shadow trembling against the light. What was left of his heart started to dissolve at the very thought._

_Then, to his horror, he was forced sit, silent as the grave he was meant to be in, as Jo broke down, distraught and enraged, and had to be forced out. His chest clenched when Jo screamed. Steele pushed his way behind the curtain a moment later, demanding, "You knew him?"_

_He remained still, his hand twisted in the buttons of his hospital gown, as if he could hold the crumbling pieces together. "I think I may have been in love with him." He closed his eyes in a wince. "I suppose... that's a sin, isn't it?"_

"Are you still trying to guilt trip me over that? It was a necessary evil." Steele sneered but hung his head, because he'd felt the pain in Harley then and knew that it still ached, as if his old wound still festered under the scar. "We had no idea with whom he was associated."

"I don't blame you. You didn't know he'd come back. You didn't know he was my only hope."

_The ride to the asylum was silent, and he spent every second looking for some way he could end it before they reached their destination. He wondered if he could wrap his neck in the seat belt strap and pull until it wrung him out, or if he really could bite his tongue off. Like in the movies, Joel would have joked. Thinking of the poor, dear man, how he'd cried out at hearing of his "death," made him wince in his seat, but the orderlies driving paid him no attention. It echoed in his mind, but it was at least echoing over worse memories._

_And there were better ones, too. There were fresh memories of card games, of long conversations, of books shared shoulder-to-shoulder, with his head next to Joel's. He had actually looked forward to going to the general population for that movie night, even if he always found movies far too loud and could never enjoy all the quick motion with his poor eyesight (which had only gotten worse). He couldn't even see the crack in his glasses anymore, or the thin line of epoxy where Jo had carefully glued the broken shard back in, so he probably wouldn't be able to follow a car chase, and Jo didn't seem the type to enjoy a slow drama. But he wanted to find out._

_He wanted to sit with Jo and read again, even if he could tell that Jo got fidgety when action was slow or that he interrupted when he didn't understand. He wanted to talk with Jo again, enjoy his common sense and straightforward view, his charming, pleasant simplicity. He wanted to share meals, quiet moments, rest, silence, everything._

_Wanting all of these things made him want less to kill himself, and he wanted so much. He knew the shape of his soul, and just how greedy it was, but God, was it good to know he still had a soul to want such things. It also remained true that even if this person, the man sitting in his skin, had died, Jo was alive. There was hope. It might have been a faint, distant, delusional hope, but it was there, and he grasped it tight._

_He decided, simply: "I want to see Joel again. I will not kill myself as long as that a chance for that to occur remains."_

_His therapist in the hospital suggested he find an outlet for his emotions, but he was already so numb to his knowledge of his actions that he didn't think he had emotions to release. Everything he felt were things he knew he should feel or had to feel, but they came to him like reaching down through ice water. Happiness, sadness, confusion, they were all just practiced reactions, imitations of life. He only ever imitated the smiles he'd given a certain woman, and later a certain man, knowing they paled in comparison to the genuine article but passed for those who didn't know. He should have felt guilty about his crimes, perhaps, or at least sorrowful that his uncontrollable wrath had caused such destruction. He didn't. He had slowly learned that he had two emotions he could acknowledge: the sensation of loss that lingered, and a desire to see Joel again. Those helped him choke through the quiet, dull hours of independent study, using the former as a stick and the latter as a carrot. Near the end of his stay, his therapist gave him paper and a lead pencil, something with a dull tip in case he was particularly uncreative in his suicidal ideations, and he sat down to release those emotions._

_He ended up writing a poem about Joel's hair. Then, he wrote one about his hands, his long fingers and his uniquely misshapen knuckles. He wrote about long walks in the sun that had never occurred, about hearing his voice at morning, noon, and night, and all of it was trite nonsense, but it was something, it was an emotion, and it was something to hold onto. He wasn't releasing emotions he couldn't feel, but he was learning to feel things again, and even if it was all idealization, it was something to color the blank spaces left in the padded white room his mind had become._

_It was the day before his release that he began to consider all the implications of staying straight. That was what Jo had called it. Jo hadn't known what he wanted, only that he had to do that to move forward. He, too, didn't know what he wanted, only that he wanted Jo. More than that. He needed Jo. He knew he'd only replaced one unhealthy obsession with another, but it was something to want, to need, and that was what he needed to stay alive._

"I never told anyone that I still thought of him. It would have done me no favors." Harley shivered. "I wanted, I needed, I wanted so much. It was a new form of insanity in and of itself, but one I could control. I know I'm still a madman." Steele nodded, because he knew. He'd known from the day Harley had returned from the asylum.

_Gage had run into his office, babbling at top speed, "Didjasee'im? Didjasee'im? He'sback, he'sback, he'sback!" Steele whacked him one with the newspaper and made him slow it down: "Greg's back, but he's not Greg! He says his name is Harley, and he wanted to see you!"_

_Steele had stormed right to his feet to find 'Harley,' the same thin, gangly man he'd last seen when he was shut into a white van bound for the state hospital, waiting outside the door to his office. He promptly sent Gage to the corner store with a five dollar bill, an instruction to get himself a Hershey bar, and a demand for a fresh pack of Marlboros, and locked 'Harley' in his office._

_"Sit." He pointed to the empty chair on one side of his desk, which 'Harley' obediently took. He folded his hands on his knee, prim as you please, and waited as Steele scrutinized him. He was exactly as he'd ever been, shoulders still narrow, paler than before, with a small new scar under his eye and a slight shake to his every motion and tight gesture. Steele had no idea what to say to him, but came up with something: "Harley. Really? You could pick any name but you went with Harley?" He scoffed. "What happened to 'Heath?'"_

_"I thought it unsuitable. I prefer Harley." He shrugged his shoulders, but set them back. "I'm prepared to rejoin society. I met with my parole officer today, and he's already gotten me several somewhat promising job interviews. I'll take the first opportunity I am offered. Would it be too much trouble to allow me to stay here until I c-"_

_"Shut up. Like I'd say no." Steele rolled his eyes._

_"Thank you." Harley's genuine gratitude shone in the face of his petulant generosity. There was a moment of silence, until Harley lifted a hand and crossed himself. "If I may... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three years since my last confession. I have committed the sins of murder, wrath, and lust."_

_"Lust?" Steele sounded unimpressed, but not surprised, either. "Are you still thinking about that man?" There was silence, and that was answer enough. "That's a pipe dream, and you know it. If you fall down that hole, it'll only hurt when you hit bottom. Don't do that to yourself."_

_And this made Harley's face fall. "God help me, I can't stop."_

"You discouraged me. The entire time. I should have listened. What a fool I was." He shuddered at each pause, swallowing air like he'd been held underwater.

_Harley assisted in the kitchen, he dutifully attended Sunday mass, and he made confession once a week, and always the same thing:_

_"I have committed the sin of lust. I am almost certain that I am in love with another man."_

_"For Christ's sake," Steele growled through the screen. "Get over it. He was someone you knew three years ago, during a period when you needed help. It's not like you're the first moron to fall in love with his nurse."_

_"It's not just a matter of him nursing me back to health. I needed him, but in a way, I think he needed me, too." Harley wrung his hands on his lap, looking at the intertwine of his fingers and not quite seeing blood anymore. Not when he thought about Joel. "He was... he was so upset when I was gone."_

_"You don't know anything about him."_

_"I so dearly want to." Harley bowed his head. "If I knew where he was, if I could just speak to him again, I could find out if this really is love, if we're as compatible as we seemed. If I am capable of such things."_

_Steele ground his teeth, and Harley waited. Finally, he responded, under his breath, "He's likely heterosexual."_

_"It's something I would accept." It would have been disappointing, but there was a high likelihood of it, wasn't there? "But I want to at least find out." He shuffled his feet. "I want to find out... if I can. If I've done enough penance to be allowed another chance."_

_Steele didn't know how to answer that. Harley could tell, because this wasn't the usual stony silence he got out of him when he asked a stupid question. Perhaps this was a new breed of stupid question, or maybe he genuinely didn't know what to say. It took him a moment, and Harley heard him searching for his cigarettes and lighter in his pockets. "Look, take things one step at a time. Don't get ahead of yourself."_

_"Oh, I don't think that's possible. After all, I may never see him again." Harley hung his head and summoned the image of him in his mind, his ruggedly handsome face, his distinctive cheekbones and the scars that decorated his jawline, his brow and those warm, deep eyes. He held those memories tight, because he thought those were all he'd ever have._

Steele clenched his hands on his lap, his face drawn tight. "I... It was not my intention to harm you. I had intended on letting the two of you meet, perhaps when you were more ready."

"I don't think you would have ever thought I was ready." Harley had gone cold, his voice dry and bitter. "But I was. I was just waiting for him, and then he stumbled out of the rain into my life, and I..." He paused, a helpless smile reaching his mouth. "I don't even know what I was thinking. I tried, just as you said, not to get in too deep, too quickly." Steele noticed Harley squeezing his clenched fists. "But when a man saves your life for the second time, then opens his home and life to you without hesitation, one realizes that kindness like that isn't out of pity, but from a soul that desires that kindness in return. And I found that I had so much to give."

"You saw an empty hearth and loaded it with all the fuel you could burn." Steele's lip curled, and his shoulders tensed. "You thought you could burn a fire high and bright enough to return the favor for the light he poured into your life, but you only ended up getting burned, over and over."

_Harley rushed into Father Steele's office, cell phone to his ear, but as he pushed through, he hit the mute and dropped his phone onto Father Steele's desk. Father Steele pretended not to notice until he heard the voice coming from the speaker:_

_"... I'm gonna die. Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die!" Steele rose to a stand as if putting any space between him and the phone would make Jo breaking into hysterics on the other end any less real. Harley shook his head, his eyes wide and darting._

_"He's tied up in the basement with an explosive strapped to his chest. I have to kill him, or Ysidro will detonate it." Harley's voice was flat, his expression crushed as if someone had stepped on his face. Steele was too stunned to do much more but run his gaze over Harley, as Jo continued to panic. Gage poked his head in, as Harley unmuted his phone and picked it up, then hesitated at the receiver._

_"... Shit, I wanna live!"_

_Harley cringed, but put on a weak smile and brought mollification to his timbre with it. "I'm sorry."_

_Jo kept rambling as Harley muted him again, and he turned to Steele, shivering from head to toe. "We have to do something. We have to help him. I can't let him die, I can't lose someone else, not him, not him-"_

_"Get a hold of yourself." He seized Harley's collar, as if to do it for him. It didn't calm Harley, because Jo was still griping through the phone._

_"He ain't got the right! Fuck! Shit!"_

_Steele slapped the phone screen. "Morbid prick." He muted it again, rolling his eyes, then glowered back at Harley. "You're really in deep, aren't you?" Harley's chest expanded and contracted, his neck and shoulders tense, and he shuddered like a house on stilts in a windstorm. "You stupid idiot, you're completely sucked in, I fucking told you-"_

_Harley suddenly grabbed the phone, smiled sweetly into it, and turned the receiver on. "Just keep talking, Joel." He muted it again, and his smile broke away in an instant, crashing back down into Father Steele's grip. "Father, please." He turned the phone back on again, and spoke gently,_ _kindly, "You said something about your hand, Joel. Did he injure you anywhere else?" He turned it off again, and forced iron in his tone: "There's a camera trained on him, that Ysidro monster is just waiting to watch me end him. What do I do?"_

_Jo was still talking, but Steele was listening to everything Harley wasn't saying. He gave him a shake, then released him. "You do what you always do. You take the problem apart, look at all of its ugly little pieces, fix it if you can, salvage it if you can't. You're supposed to be the smart one! What makes this different?"_

_"I know you're not unintelligent, Father," Harley replied, iron chilling to ice. He swallowed it, and came back, chilled and faint, "We have to do something, or I'll lose him."_

_"Then," Gage interrupted, his brow furrowed and his lips set, because he'd been listening in and understanding much more, much faster than most boys his age might. "We should do something." He slowly grinned. "I can smash the camera, while you guys do something about the bomb."_

_"Yes. Good. Let's go." With that, Harley spun around for the door, urgency in his pace, determination he never willed up for himself apparent under his panic._

"You let yourself get hurt. You made yourself hurt. Every time he got hurt, it was another bite out of you, and you knew it." Steele sneered, and Harley seemed to shrink. "You would have let him step on you if you thought it'd make him like you."

"But I didn't have to, don't you see? He was so gentle, Father. He has such a soft, kind way under that tough exterior." Harley was rocking now, and slowly drew his knees into his chest. Steele just scoffed.

"You wanted to see that in him. You've seen his true colors, Harley. Stop deluding yourself."

"Have you seen his true colors?" There was a clarity in that, and Steele realized Harley was looking straight at him. "He's good and kind. You don't want to trust anyone, but I don't have that invulnerability. As small as this heart is, it wants so much." He shivered. "To tie him up and bind him to me. To have and hold, and keep him safe and mine forever." Steele recoiled with disgust, as Harley shook his head. "I can see how wonderful he is. That he's worth all that, worth the risk."

"You were looking for it and saw it. Whether or not it was there-"

"I'm only half-blind, Father." Harley hugged his knees tight. "I know he's not perfect. I was so angry to learn he'd committed again. But- he was upset, and desperate, and I know I didn't help him, not even a little. I did something terrible to him, and I couldn't even bring myself to talk to him." He cringed and shook his head. "I deserved to lose him."

"Harley-"

"He's a good man. He didn't even blame me. But I know I sinned against him, against God, against myself, and I deserve every punishment foisted upon me." He released his knees, only to look at his palms. "So many sins, all over my hands."

It took every ounce of self-control Steele had to keep him from smacking Harley's arms down. "And you confessed every single time."

_Steele came to expect Harley waiting outside of the confessional box once a week or so, his gaze wandering around the room but failing to look as if he weren't loitering outside of a corner store, just waiting for it to open. Steele would deliberately pass him by at least once, before acquiescing and entering his side of the booth. Harley was practiced in the minutiae of confession, but he hardly seemed interested in the actual confession:_

_"I was wrathful. I smelled a woman on my roommate when he returned from the bar and nearly lost my temper."_

_Steele withheld a groan. Harley losing his temper could be utterly disastrous, but, since he was fully medicated, it probably only meant a snap of passive-aggressive warfare that Jo was unlikely to even notice. "That in and of itself isn't a sin. Stop reading Dante."_

_"I was deceitful, because I got revenge by using extra oil on his portion of steak last night."_

_Steele rolled his eyes. "And why-"_

_"I thought if he got chubby, maybe he wouldn't chase women as much."_

_Steele smacked his hand against the side of the booth, rattling the partition. "Stop that! Ten Our Fathers, and give the idiot a salad!"_

_Harley actually giggled. "Yes, yes, of course," but dissolved into a sigh. He didn't say the closing prayer. Steele waited, then growled under his breath, which prompted Harley to go on. "Father? My feelings haven't changed. I still... feel this way about him. I get so jealous, that he gives himself away so easily but hasn't looked at me."_

_"You said you wouldn't care if he were heterosexual, that you'd be happy to call him a friend."_

_This gave Harley pause, as he contemplated. "I may have lied." Steele grunted, but Harley smothered a soft laugh. "But I haven't assumed him to be heterosexual. He just might not have realized that he's not, not yet."_

_"Don't go trying to convince him. I'm not going to give you false hope."_

_"I don't have false hope. It's nice to have any hope at all." Harley pressed his hands between his knees. "I just... I just wonder... if there is a God, and he is just, and he answers our prayers, perhaps I'll deserve him. If I repent all my sins, repent every sin, repent for everything, I'll have my prayers answered."_

_"That's just not how love works." Steele was helpless to put it any other way. He'd loved, but he'd never been in love, but he knew it didn't come from God. "You can't bribe God to give you your way."_

_"No? I suppose I'm not sure what else I can do, then..." Harley trailed off, but sighed and whispered a finishing prayer, crossed himself, and departed, and Steele braced himself for more of the same next week..._

Harley nodded a few times, eyes wide, seeming more lucid than he had in days. "I thought confession would help. I don't even think God listens or cares. He's killed more people than I ever will." He shuddered at the words. "But I... I thought if I opened my head and heart, if I repented enough, I would deserve him. I was terribly wrong, and I'm so terribly sorry. I only succeeded in wounding him, because I thought I was on the verge of victory. I took something precious from him. I can't be forgiven."

"Why not? He's not a God. He's an overgrown teenager who..." Steele struggled, the words colliding and breaking at the tip of his tongue. "If you just talk to him-"

"I'm not worth talking to. I tried. He wouldn't admit I had sinned, so I can't be forgiven. I'll have to be punished differently." Harley hung his head, his face obscured in the shadow of the pews. "Promise me something. It's cruel, but I must ask. When I... when I'm gone..." Steele's eyes widened, but Harley lifted his head to meet his gaze. Harley's expression was shuttered, but Steele could see right through that he was terrified. "Please make sure I'm dealt with. Put me away and throw away the key. Four safe, stable, padded walls."

"Harley, stop." Steele lifted himself and stood in front of him, as Harley closed in and held his knees tight again like he was ducking and covering from an explosion. "You know you're doing this to yourself."

"I must." He shivered against the draft. "The wave is coming. I can feel it in my veins, in my scars. It'll happen soon, and send everything crashing around us, and Harley is useless to help." He turned his hands over and looked at his palms, focused as if seeing what was still there, something that he knew had always been there. "But... I just don't know what I'll do when I see them coming. I hope it's what needs to happen." His face split in a maddened grin, one that didn't reach his eyes or the rest of him, and Steele hated when he meant his creepy smiles. He shivered for a moment, his body warring with his mind. History and legacy told him to backhand the idiot and shake sense into him, because even if that never worked it sure as hell made him feel better, but this, this was bigger than him. He crouched over Harley and seized his shoulders.

"Listen to me," he intoned, as if he were standing on the pulpit and not in the coldest pew in the room, the words resonating off of everything but Harley. "You know better than this. I have no desire to put you back in a cell, no more than you really want to be back in a cell. You are still lucid enough to know you need to take your medicine. Do it."

Harley stared back, impassively, motionless. "Oh, I don't think that's possible." His face fell again. "I may never see him again if I do."

Steele felt something set in his gut, harder than stone, heavier than concrete. He realized Harley was fidgeting with something, and snatched his cell phone out of his hands. He saw messages from Jo, unread, on the front screen. Harley actually laughed airily, dryly, as Father Steele flipped it open. "He's there, you know. In the corners of my eyes. I'll see him coming towards me, but he vanishes. I imagine he's calling me, or sending me messages. I know he's not there. I wonder how long it will take me to forget that."

Steele growled, and marched out to the center pew and swiped over Jo's name. The phone rang, until Steele heard the echo of Jo's voice through the receiver, reading off an answering machine message advising him to Go West. Steele waited, gathered his thoughts like wind, then released it in bluster:

"Listen, you moron, I don't know what happened between you and Harley, but it can't sit like this." He paused, as if waiting for a retort, so he wouldn't have to go on, but it didn't come, and he grimaced and dug deep. "I heard what you did for Shalimar, and I know you're not stupid enough to actually commit again. He thinks he's lost you. Tell me I'm wrong. Show him he's wrong. Make this right." He hung up and flung Harley's phone back at him, and swept out, even as Harley whispered a closing prayer and crossed himself. Steele gritted his teeth and kept himself from turning around again, because this was a demon no amount of prayer could fight.

The madness was there, invisible but present, as sure as the wave gathered outside. It crept under his skin and through his veins, insidious and deep, spreading chaotically and burgeoning through. The kind demeanor, the mask he wore was cracking from the inside, all of the terrible things buried in Harley were beginning to peer through the gaps in it, and if something wasn't done, it would split beyond repair.

And yet, on the surface, Steele could still hear him.

"I am sorry for these and all of my sins." He kept shivering, clasping his hands together and wringing them over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... "

* * *

Jo tore through the streets, as fast as his legs could carry him, blindly dodging through the storm. His head was spinning, fragments of fractured memory all colliding and echoing back through him, everything he'd bottled up and held back breaking out, all coming back to the coda:

I'm already dead. I'm gonna die.

He knew, he'd always known, just how small he was, how big he had to talk just to put a smile on. He was nothing more than an ant in a windstorm, tiny, minuscule, invisible at any distance. He wouldn't even be missed.

He rambled through streets and down sidewalks, his splashing footsteps echoing behind him. He wasn't running blind, no, he knew the streets of this city better than he knew himself anymore, and he stumbled to a halt at the edge of Hamilton, and stared as the cars roared by, groaning metal and snarling rubber in every breath. He knew that the cars never slowed down, traffic at all hours, wouldn't stop for anything, and that was just what he wanted. Jo heaved for air, painfully aware of the frantic cadence of his own heart, and shivered as he faced the blur.

"I can't stay straight. It ain't in me no more." He swallowed. "I can't do nothing, and I can't fix this." An image of Harley flashed through his mind, but he shook it off. "Couldn't help you, can't do shit for nobody else." He forced a weak smile. "Ain't nothing but dirt. It ain't like nobody wants me anyway." He was hearing voices, and knew he was losing his mind, everyone he knew, all building in him like chaos. He would swear he was hearing music thrashing from somewhere, and Harley's voice, but it was too much.

He stepped down into the road and faced the headlights. He could hear the truck's horn blaring, but closed his eyes and opened his arms.

But then, Christ, just then, something seized his wrist and yanked, and Jo stumbled back up the curb and into something solid. He felt the rain draining through his hair stop, and opened his eyes to see Mercy.

Mercy, with a black eye, holding an umbrella over both of their heads and keeping a vice grip on his arm. Se smiled broadly, but spoke soft and gentle in a voice meant just for him: "Jojo, baby, s' been ages." Se wrapped hir elbow around his. "How 'bout you come with me 'n' get outta this rain? I don't feel like drinking alone, and you look like you could use one too."

Jo's brain had gone silent when se'd pulled him back, and it didn't start up again. He didn't have any response for this but, "Yeah, sure, okay."

With that, Mercy dragged Jo back from the ledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a nice, shiny new playlist available for everyone! Father and Sun: http://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/staying-straight-father-and-sun 
> 
> For posterity's sake, Harley's playlist is here: http://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/staying-straight-the-eccentric
> 
> And Jo's playlist is here: http://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/staying-straight-the-punk
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


	30. Bent But Not Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo sorts things out with the last person he expected could set him straight.

 

**28: Bent But Not Broken**

Jo scantly saw that Mercy had dragged him to a familiar haunt of his, and he had no idea how se'd gotten him there without him feeling his feet on the pavement. Se hadn't released his arm for the entire walk, the firm pressure of hir fingernails pulling him on through the changing, shifting lights. Se let go of him only when he was at a barstool, and then, only to push him towards it. "Sit, Jojo." Like a dog, he obeyed, his knees buckling, and he pulled himself up into the chair. Mercy leaned over the bar and whispered something to the bartender, then stepped back. "I gotta make a phone call. Don't you move."

Jo nodded, and se turned on hir heel and went to a corner, already digging for hir phone in hir purse. Before he could try to think, the bartender put an open bottle of Natty Boh on the bar in front of him, with a mutter of "On the house." Then, as if to read his mind, he dropped a bottle with a funky label next to it, something Jo didn't recognize, one of those weird microbrews that he always asked for but never got. He took a sip: sour, bitter, but damn good. Mercy was in the stool next to him when he put the bottle down, crossing hir legs and ordering a Cosmo. The quiet between them felt good, like the cold water still draining out of his hair.

Then, se turned and focused hir eyes on and through him. "So, Jojo. I take it I'm not the only one havin' a rough night."

Jo didn't answer, didn't want to. The voice he managed when he did speak was watery, gravelly, and almost completely unlike his: "How'd you get the shiner, Merc?"

"Oh, that." Se touched hir cheek. "I've had somethin' of a rougher crowd lately. Someone got a little rougher than usual." Hir smile was flimsy, and se dragged hir fingers away from the blooming bruise and hir gaze away from him. "Some fellas just don't like surprises, y'know?"

Jo swallowed hard. "M'sorry."

"You didn't do it, baby." Se turned in her seat, hands on hir knees, and leaned closer to him. "I did see what you've been up to, though."

"Mm." Jo winced, and took a long draw on his beer. "Uh, how'd you even--"

"Your cellphone, hon. I heard it going off. 'Fuel,' right? You've had that as your ringtone ever since you moved into the apartment under mine, so I've heard it at way-too-early-o-clock every damn morning for the last few years. Though, maybe you oughta switch it to 'No Leaf Clover.'" Mercy's Cosmo arrived, and se took a drink as Jo took it in.

"You know Metallica?"

"Slept with the bassist back in '92, when they were playing the Boardwalk, down the shore. I kept hoping he'd write a song about me." Hir easy smile matched hir voice, in pale imitation of two friends sharing drinks. "So, sweetie, what's going on?"

Jo shrank, his shoulders sinking. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mercy hummed. "It must take a whole lot of nothing to make a man walk into the grill of an eighteen-wheeler." Jo felt what little air was left in him evaporate, but Mercy took both of his hands in hirs. "Jojo. Baby. That ain't you. How 'bout you take another drink and give me another story, one I might believe?"

"Mercy, I-"

"No charge." Se shrugged, but didn't release his hands. "I have a lot of guys who just want someone they can talk to. I have a feeling you don't wanna talk. You wanna be heard. Correct me if I'm wrong, baby, but you can tell me anything. I'll just sit here and listen." He hesitated, but shook hir hands off and turned his shoulders away.

It took him a minute to collect his thoughts, and when he did, it came out in a jumble: "You ever fuck up real bad? And it fucks you up with it? And you don't know how to fix it, or if it can be fixed?" Mercy nodded, and he bowed his head. "It all started when I had sex with my roommate. And liked it." Mercy nodded a few times, and Jo waited for hir to call him an idiot and a pervert.

Se didn't. "Lucky boy." Se smiled, and took another sip of hir drink, hir lipstick smudging the glass. "Congratulations. The weird guy with the glasses, right? He's probably wicked in the sack. Good catch." Se chuckled warmly and jostled his arm with hir elbow. "Pretty sure you were the last one to figure out he had the hots for you."

Jo didn't know what to say to this except, "You really think?"

"I know. He looked at you like a cat looks at cream. Like you were everything he ever wanted, in one neat little package with a pretty red bow."

Jo didn't know if he could believe hir, but the memory of Harley's warmest smiles were fresh, and came like a relief to even remember. Everything else in his mind, though, snowed it over in an instant. "Yeah, well, it wasn't so nice in my head. Somethin' about it broke somethin' in me, and I just kept fucking up after that." He took a deep breath, as Mercy took another dainty sip. He tried to collect his thoughts, but he knew nothing he could say would make sense. Instead, he laid it out, as plainly as possible: "Because my head was so screwed up, I ended up getting neck-deep in a plot to bust a murderer out of prison, and got dragged back into the gangs. I helped some guys with a robbery and an assault. When I get arrested, I'm probably facing thirty years." Mercy hadn't reacted, hir gaze fixed on the bottom of hir glass. "Thing is, I did it 'cause I thought if I got back in with 'em, I could protect the others. I could warn the Father if someone was coming after him and Gage again, or if the Cents got the balls to go for Harley again, and besides, both of us lost our jobs, so I figured if I got some money for it, I could take care of him."

This got Mercy's full attention. "Did you tell him this?"

"I tried, but he just kept needling at me about the bad shit I did." Jo let his head fall to the bar in front of him. "It's not like I didn't know how much of a fuck-up I am. I got angry, and he was shouting at me to just tell him, and I... I said some really dumb shit." He cringed to think of it, how Harley had blamed himself, blamed the intimacy that they'd shared. How he couldn't bear to let himself be close to Harley, not after that. He could hardly look at himself in the mirror. "I got wrapped up in the assault after I walked away from him. And now, the break's going down, and I'm pretty sure it's going to go just like the boss wants it to, and it's gonna raise hell on this city. And there ain't gonna be nothing I can do to protect anyone." He lifted his shoulders a little, just as Mercy's palm landed on his back. "I... I thought, if I can't fix things, can't fix nothing, can't go back and change, can't have my life the way it was, and can't do anything to stop this crazy shit, then maybe..."

"Maybe it'd be easier to lay down in the road and close your eyes to it for good." Mercy rested hir arm on his back. "Everyone, damn near everyone gets there some time. Stuff just circles over you, vultures that pick at you or clouds of a gathering storm, and it gets overwhelming." Se slipped hir hand down under his chin and lifted it. "It must be awful, not being able to see your blue skies under all that. If I could apologize on behalf of everyone who put all that onto you, baby, I would, but how 'bout you and me take a step back and try to get it off?"

Jo nodded against hir soft, supple palm- the skin contact was a weirdly comfortable sensation- and se turned in hir seat again, one leg folded over the other. "I don't know what to tell you about that gang stuff. I got wrapped up in my preferred sins, didn't have time to hurt anyone else." Se sipped hir Cosmo again as Jo hung his head, and se loosed a little sigh. "But I can tell you this. Big problems are built from small ones, and if you solve the small ones, you take the mortar out of the big ones."

"I wish I knew what the fuck you were saying," Jo mumbled. "This is just a massive snowball of shit, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I'm just one guy." He crumpled, the admission tearing at his guts. "I ain't that strong."

Mercy didn't answer, instead lowering hir eyes down and away. "Why not?" Se spun in hir chair, then emptied hir Cosmo down hir throat, and set hir focus between some of the bottles displayed against the mirror on the other side of the bar. "There's little things us little tiny people can do to cut away at those big things. Lemme tell you a little story."

Se took a drink, and he followed suit, finding the bottom of his bottle and waving to the bartender for another, and Mercy composed hirself as he popped the top off. "It was around six years ago. I got called up to work this swanky party in the Monk's Hill region, this big old house up in the pines. I remember it like a photograph, it was all white and dripping ivy, but the insides weren't so picture-perfect." Se chuckled. "Excess drinking, cocaine, and topless waitresses on the main floor, orgy in the basement. I was, of course, there for the orgy."

"Christ, Merc, I get the feelin' I really don't wanna hear this story."

"You do." Se tugged a strand of his hair, then folded hir hands on the bar again, pointedly not looking at him. "Now, I was doing my job, and well, but sometimes, even a professional just needs a minute. I was headed back from the washroom to the actual party, when I noticed that the linen closet had a padlock." Jo frowned, and saw that se was already frowning, hir lips pursed, and se'd let hir fingers wander into one of the ringlets of hir hair and twist. "I would've kept walking, until I heard something from inside. I busted the lock, and found a crawl space dug into the wall, and back in there, someone had packed away this tiny little boy."

Jo's gut hit the floor, his jaw right with it, and Mercy waved the bartender down. "Vodka and cranberry, heavy on the vodka." Se sighed and tossed hir hair back, pretending Jo wasn't staring at her, mouth agape. "I tried to talk to him, but he mostly snarled at me. One of the other women I'd seen in the house found me in there with him, but she didn't speak much English either. She managed to get across, 'Can't tell boss,' and 'she'll get killed.' Figures that not all of the women in there were there because they were getting paid. I'm guessing that he was an accident from a prior event, and whoever birthed him couldn't bring herself to kill him, but sure as hell couldn't give him what he needed. Food. Attention. Love." The bartender gave Mercy hir drink, and se drained it in one go. Se huffed for air before going on, "So, here I'd walked into a slave ring, found a neglected, starved little boy, and I basically found myself standing under a mountain."

"So, what'd you do?"

"What could I do? I'm only one lousy person standing against a system that didn't trust me, wouldn't believe me, and a horror that no amount of laws and public moralization would stop. Slavery's one of those nasty, sneaky things, the second you think you've pulled the thread, the spool disintegrates." Se flagged the bartender again. "I did the only thing I could do. I grabbed that little boy and my clothes and ran out the back door. He kicked and screamed, and I couldn't really stop to put much on, but I ran all the way back to the district with him." Se looked almost wistful, barely remembering to nod to the bartender as he gave her a fresh glass. "I didn't know what to do with him, but I managed to find a telephone booth, and I tried to look up a cousin of mine." Se wagged hir glass at him, before taking a sip. "Last time I saw him, family reunion twenty-some-odd years ago back when I still bothered with those stuffy old codgers, he was flitting about showing off pictures of the little baby he'd adopted. Funny guy, even for a priest, only relative I could really stand. But I couldn't find him in the phone book, and I had to leave the little guy outside the phone booth. I looked down for just a minute, and he was gone." Se drank again, deeper, and heaved another sigh. "So I called the police."

Jo was hanging on the end of his seat, all but stunned silent. "And then?"

"The cops didn't believe me." Se chuckled ruefully. "They arrested me for indecent exposure and threw me in jail for a few days before they decided not to prosecute. They never could keep me." Se tossed hir hair back again, and it fell back over part of hir face, shading the bruise blooming on her eye. "But, thing is, I remembered the little boy's face, and I saw him again just a few months later, chasing pigeons outside of a church mission. I still see him around sometimes, and he's just thriving. I don't talk to him, but I can see exactly how well he's doing." Se pushed her empty glass away. "So, I didn't fix slavery. Couldn't get the whackjob who, however indirectly, that made that little boy's life hell arrested. But now, there's a wonderful, sweet little boy out there who can live his life in the sun." Se sat back with a self-contented smile, directed towards Jo, as Jo's insides all trembled and seized, the thought surging through him: Se couldn't possibly mean who he thought se meant, but se had to. Se surely knew what he was thinking, but didn't offer any satisfaction, only a mild shrug and a platitude to push him out of hir soul. "A small thing can change a lot. There must be something small you can do with what you've got in you. Sometimes, it's just that first step to making a bigger change. Even if it means putting yourself in a bad spot, if you wanna tackle the big things, you just might find it's worth the sacrifice."

Jo nodded a few times, because it made sense, but doubt still haunted him. "I don't think saving just one person's going to be enough. Even if it's..." He groaned, his gut twisting. He'd emptied his second bottle, and a third had already dropped in front of him. "Fuck, if I knew what I could do, I'd do it, but I just can't do anything."

"You'd be surprised, on both fronts. I have a feeling you've got a lot more in you than you're brave enough to acknowledge." Mercy was sitting back from the bar, hir gaze dancing up and over Jo in consideration. "But it's not just a matter of how daunting it looks from the outside, is it? There's something inside you holding you back."

"Heh." Jo wrought his eyebrows up, his forebrain aching and squeezing. "I dunno, holding back, it's not really my thing, y'know?"

"You've got some walls, don'cha, baby?" Mercy leaned hir cheek against hir palm, drumming hir fingernails against the table. "Every time you get burned, you get your scar tissue, and it all builds and builds, sealing off the parts of you that you blamed. You don't think that maybe, you hold a lot in because of that? You wear the face of someone who got hurt a lot, and who learned to wear a smile as a band-aid and who jokes and laughs as panacea. It's easier than acknowledging when you hurt, for fear of dredging up every wound you never healed from behind those patchwork walls." Mercy tapped the bar a few more times, hir tempo slowing as hir words sunk in. Jo found himself tremendously thirsty, or at least desperate to ignore hir. Se, however, moved to put hir hand over his. "You said... being with a man, a man who loves you, broke something in you."

The way se said the words "loves you," like that meant something, because God, didn't it, hit one of the rawest spot's in Jo's heart, and he couldn't find words for a few seconds. Still, he collected his machismo and laid it out, his hands clasped tight: "Merc, I... I'm straight, straight as a line-"

"Darling, lines don't break, they bend." Mercy took his hands and opened them, unfurling his palm in hirs. Se ran hir thumbnail down the length of his lifeline. "This is a line, isn't it? Even if they look like they might break, they curve to fit whatever plane they're laid on. Just the same, not all lines are straight. Come a little closer to anything, and even something flat has a curve." The pad of hir thumb traveled the length of his heart line, and his chest squeezed and seized when se wrapped hir fingers around his wrist. "Bent doesn't mean broken. Do you honestly think there's anything wrong with loving a man?" Jo shook his head. Mercy pursed hir lips, hir gaze unreadable but boring through him, then took a breath before speaking again, so gently, but so confidently that every word beat into him like his own pulse."You don't think there's a tiny possibility that maybe, just maybe, you decided you were straight because, well, everyone around you was, and you didn't want to get called out as a faggot? Or, maybe you've never thought about it at all, and you sleep with women because that's what you're supposed to do. Or, maybe you have one exception, because he's so dear to you that it doesn't matter that he's a dude." Se clasped his hand in both of hirs. "Would it really be so bad to be a little bent, if it meant breaking through some of the walls holding you back?"

That only brought one thing to mind: a line out of Harley's poem: _We're bent but unbroken, but together we are whole._

Jo shook his head again, and Mercy patted his leg. "Don't jump to conclusions. Think it out, talk it out." Se took his face into hir hands, cupping his cheeks in palms that were too soft to be a man's but too firm to be a woman's, and ran hir thumb down his face. "Listen good, baby. If you were to forget everything else, go back to your apartment and see him curled up on your couch with a bowl of popcorn, maybe give you a mug of cocoa- am I painting the right picture here?- and ask you how your night was, how would you feel?"

Jo, still in hir hold, closed his eyes and thought for a moment, but the answer had come in an instant. "Warm." Wanted. Needed.

"And if that person makes you feel that way, do you think it really matters if they're a guy or a girl?" Mercy ran hir thumb up to his cheekbone, then down his scars. Jo shuddered, but couldn't answer. He wasn't sure he had to. "And if so, doncha think that feeling is worth looking at a little closer? It's better than throwing yourself down to be roadkill, anyway."

"Merc..."

"You have two separate problems, Jojo." Mercy flagged the bartender again, but only to request hir check. "Treat 'em one at a time, and maybe it all won't look so big." Jo was about to tell hir to quit being so damn cryptic and just give him an answer, but he heard the door slam shut and loud, frantic footsteps.

"Mercy!" Jo spun on his stool, to see a familiar, mousy-looking gray-haired man in a shabby suit jacket and plaid flannel pajama pants, trembling as he hurried towards them. Mercy slid from hir chair as he caught hir in his arms. "Oh, oh no, Mercy, does it hurt?" He touched the bruise by hir eye, but se brushed his hand aside.

"It stings, but it's mostly my pride. Thanks for coming, Johnny." Se leaned in and kissed his forehead- Jo faintly realized se was taller than him, and likely would be even without hir heels- then brushed a few strands of hair back from his eyes. "I think we got a lot to talk about-"

"If you think you have to ask me for forgiveness, there's nothing to forgive! Just, come with me, come home, and we'll figure it all out together." Johnny, if that was his name, clasped hir hands as if se was all he had to hold on to, and damn if Mercy somehow looked stronger than him despite it all. "It's like I've always promised. I'll give you the better life you've always deserved-"

"Johnny, I don't need better. I just want you now, okay?" Se bowed hir head, hir eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. He tried and failed to contain a breathy gasp at the contact, as se moved around, hir lips to his ear. "I'm out of the business. I'm done. Whatever I'm gonna do next, I wanna do it with you, okay?"

Jo frowned, and couldn't stop himself from interrupting their moment. "Wait, Mercy, you're done being an escort?" Mercy rolled hir eyes, but glanced back to Jo to nod. "But, it's what you've always done."

"Nothing lasts for always, sweetie." Se slung an arm around Johnny's back. "Things change, and people do, too. The face of the city, the faces of your friends, where you stand in life, where you're going. But some things just don't, and those're the important ones, the things that anchor you." Se granted Johnny a warm, sincere smile. "There's been an anchor pulling me in another direction for a long time, and I think it's time I followed it." Se released Johnny and stepped to Jo's side again. "Change might be scary, but it something you gotta do, even if it's just changing your direction. The straight and narrow isn't always the right path. Sometimes, you have to make your own way, and baby, if anyone I know knows his way through, it's you." Mercy kissed him on the cheek, then pivoted around and draped hirself over 'Johnny.' "C'mon, darlin', let's go home."

Jo heard 'Johnny' asking Mercy who he was, an answer of "just an old friend," and the door shut. Hir words lingered and sunk in, etching on his skin and into his mind like a tattoo. He half-realized that he'd just been taken to school and preached at by a hooker, and he really didn't mind. "Guess se's been around the block a few times, all the corners se's had to hang on." He snickered to himself, then sighed it out. Jokes weren't a good idea. Thinking, that was what he needed to do. There were at least a few pearls of wisdom thrown at him tonight, and those seemed better than the underside of a truck any day. He raised a hand to the bartender. "Bottle of Natty Boh, or whatever's cheap and not panther piss."

He, on the other hand, had no better ideas than sitting right here and thinking it out until a lightbulb came on, and he knew he didn't have anywhere else to be. Instead, he sat back, drank the bottle dry, and hoped upon hope that the ideas Mercy had given him would congeal into some sort of solid path. Even if that path turned out crooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new playlists for everyone! 
> 
> From LePetitErik, Part 4 of her ongoing collection: https://8tracks.com/lepetiterik/staying-straight-pt-4
> 
> From me, the "Apart" playlist: https://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/staying-straight-apart
> 
> For convenience, the kind LePetitErik has collected all of the playlists so far here: https://8tracks.com/lepetiterik/collections/staying-straight
> 
> Listen and enjoy!


	31. Fire and Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As one man contemplates his own desires, another finally realizes his.

**29: Fire and Light**

Clouded moonlight flooded through the tall windows and peered through the sheer, silvery shades, and Neil Jenning sat in the deep sill of a penthouse master bedroom, watching the billowing clouds drown out the twilight. He was roused from his meditation by hands circling his chest and teasing at his nipples, and his back arched in response as the quilt behind him rustled and was pulled away.

"You're still awake, Daddy?" Genie purred into his ear. "Tomorrow's the big day." He hummed and glanced behind him, a pleased smirk tilting his cheeks.

"I've never been able to sleep on nights when I might need it most." He didn't fully face her, hardly able to even glimpse her in the dim eventide. "I'm just thinking."

"Thinking about?" She traipsed her fingers up the line of his back to his neck, then teased the little curls of over-long hair at the nape of his neck. He shook his head, then shrugged his shoulders. "Just lay down, close your eyes, and think about nothing."

"If only that were so easy. I'm afraid my head never quite goes empty." He sighed mockingly, still smiling at nothing in particular. "I'll catch you in dreamland in a little bit."

She huffed and rolled over, taking the quilts with her, but Jenning merely grabbed a corner and covered his legs, and resumed observing the city from their perch high above. The view of the city from up here was nice, but it sure as hell wasn't worth whatever Genie was paying for it. Then again, he had already decided no amount of money was worth anything, mere numbers on paper, and he only had any interest in it because others put value in it.

How stupid. What idiots. The lot of them.

He sighed and inched closer to the glass, then pressed his forehead against it. The evening rain had made it cold. It didn't calm the heat in his head; there was too much, it was too little. Not doubt, never doubt. He knew what he was getting into the moment he planned it. Tomorrow, he would succeed. The city would erupt, and he would finally look out and see something different.

And yet, and yet, he could only think of another night like this one, and felt another set of hands stealing around his waist.

_"You're up late." His voice was breathy, but soft and warm; it always reminded him of a down quilt, something he could just sink down into and never emerge. Neil hummed, but adjusted as Connor rose from behind him, letting the covers fall back and shifting his hold from Neil's waist to his shoulders. Neil sat in the big window of the upstairs room where Connor had pushed the bed they shared flush to the wall, directly above the office-cum-nursery where Connor's sulking toddler hopefully slept on. "You know, the Monsignor can always tell when you haven't prepared for his visits, and getting a good night's sleep is part of that."_

_"Sleep is boring." He gave a careless shrug. "Blackness behind closed eyes. Dreams that aren't real. I'd rather be doing just about anything else."_

_"I see." Connor pulled the coverlet tighter around his naked hips, but shifted to sit beside Neil. "You can't sleep."_

_Neil felt his ears burn, but put on a pleasant smile for Connor. "You're no fun. Perhaps..." He trailed off, his hand sliding back and up Connor's thigh. For a man in his forties, Connor was still strikingly attractive, slender and trim under his clothes. However, he was also remarkably subtle, and he laid his hand over Neil's, clasped it, and moved it down onto the bed beside him._

_"Old men like me are never fun. Then again, you chose a profession that's full of them." Connor's chuckle was soft and warm against his neck. "Now, really, Neil, tell me. What's keeping you awake?"_

_It was hard to keep Connor out completely. He was clever and deft, he wove in and around his outer defenses as easily as silk thread, and even now, Neil couldn't say for sure how close he was. Then again, Neil had accidentally discovered that Connor was tightly wrapped just the same, that he wore a daft smile over deep wisdom. Neil could only ever compare him to moonlight in his mind, and in the literary sense, at that: fascinating, but ever changing, such that one could truly comprehend. Yet whatever it was that composed Connor, it all bore out as generosity and kindness, shining out through the bright centers of his eyes, warmth present in the wrinkles around his mouth and on his brow. Neil still wondered what lay under his skin, behind those eyes, in a mind that guided itself behind veils of gentle laughter and demure dismissals. He just never quite saw an opening. That made him a puzzle Neil couldn't solve, and he'd never found one of those before._

_He'd been a brilliant child and knew it, but he found everything boring. He didn't get along with other children, and his nutty mother wasn't worth conversation. Loneliness only ever gave him time to think, though, because nothing else interested him. The concept of God fascinated, which took him through seminary and into his apprenticeship under Thomas O'Day. O'Day hated him, thought him too big for his britches, as an old man like him put it. He thought Neil had been unwilling to learn the basics, and he had no interest in engaging him in actual discussion. The best and brightest student in the seminary couldn't just be expelled from the internship program, but Connor Steele had been willing to step up to the plate and take him under his wing. He'd expected to be bored, but under someone more lenient, he would have slid by._

_Connor didn't start him off by forcing him to watch him give mass. Connor sat him down in the yard behind the sanctuary and poured him a cup of tea. Connor named the different birds that landed at the feeder, and asked Neil to identify the ones he wasn't sure of. Neil, for his part, didn't know the second thing about ornithology, and was completely lost. He also had no idea why they were talking about birds, until Connor mused aloud, "Such simple things, yet so interesting. They fly different directions, their behaviors all so diverse, but at their core, they all have the very same needs to be satisfied. It's merely a matter of which and when." Then, Connor looked directly at him. "That reminds me. Why do you want to be a priest?"_

_Neil could have given him a dozen answers, but, taken aback by the sudden shift, merely managed, "Curiosity." Connor tented his fingers on the picnic table and waited. Neil waited. He realized he wouldn't evade that persistent stare until he gave a little more. "My mother was devout. She said priesthood was the only way one could commune directly with God. I wanted to have that experience."_

_"I see." There was a quality to his tone that said Connor could have said so much more, asked much more, but was choosing not to. "Interesting." Connor smiled and leaned his face forward, his hair falling forward over his shoulder. Neil swallowed; there was something about Connor's smile that made his heart jump a little, anticipation of something that might never come. "You are an interesting boy, but there's one thing in your records that caught my attention. You entered seminary at age sixteen after graduating high school early- commendable and impressive both- but when you enrolled, it was under a different name. Uriel." Neil frowned, as Connor slid his hand across the table. "The Flame of God. The Light of God. It's an unusual name, but it was yours. Why did you change it?"_

_Neil had laughed. "It's a stupid name." He hadn't even noticed that Connor had covered his hand with his, but drew it back before Neil could push him off._

_Connor's thin hands slipped under his guard with gentle touches, his tongue with softly-spoken but deep words, and since Connor gradually did engage with him on philosophy and the meaning of God, Neil wasn't bored. Then again, Connor's touches and words were never boring. Connor would give him just enough to lean into, just enough to react to, then pull away to let Neil wonder. Even more, their conversations were all questions, always from Connor to Neil. Even when Neil did notice that Connor was just letting him talk and encouraging him to keep talking, when he did try to question him back, Connor would turn it back around and re-engage him._

_Connor was genuinely interested in everything he had to say. They would talk after business was concluded for the day, sharing meals (even though they had to be shared with Connor's grouchy adopted toddler), and soon, conversations turned into "Look at the time, the buses stopped an hour ago, shall I call you a cab home?" Even faster, that turned into, "We've an early morning tomorrow, won't you stay the night?"_

_That turned into Neil sitting awake, watching the city through the upstairs window, with Connor embracing him and asking why he couldn't sleep. Tonight, as with so many of these quiet nights, Neil shrugged. "I'm thinking."_

_"You do that so often, but so rarely tell me what goes on in your mind." Connor's fingers, thin, dry and smooth, slid up his neck and into the dark tangles of his hair. "What mad thoughts occupy this space tonight? Thinking of what you'll say to God when you speak with him?"_

_Neil laughed, but captured Connor's fingers and clasped them before he could draw them away again. "What makes you think I haven't been speaking with him all along? Do you really think me so naïve?"_

_"Never." Connor giggled, and let Neil hold his hand hostage in front of his chest. "Only the staunchest of us truly thinks God cannot hear what we say without a priest as middleman. But tell me, what is it you so badly want to tell him? There are other ways to become closer to God."_

_"Let me ask you first: why did you become a priest?" Neil held Connor's hand over his heart, his pulse quickening as Connor leaned into the lines of his spine._

_"Oh, that's simple. I like to lead songs, but I haven't the talent to be a choir master. Luckily, rudimentary singing talent is passable for a priest, so here I am." Connor giggled again, a wheeze to his breath, and Neil could just scent a hint of his preferred pipe tobacco in the fall of his hair. "I thought I'd be happy. So far, I am. My life has taken a wonderful turn merely from choosing to stand here. My work is difficult, but often rewarding, I have a beloved son, and very good friends." Connor squeezed him for emphasis. "And now, the question turns to you. You're wise enough to know this is not the only way one can engage with God, so what is it you want from priesthood?"_

_Half-asleep and lulled into security, Neil had an honest answer: "I don't know. I suppose I liked the thought of being seen as a conduit to God as much as I wanted to be that."_

_That answer satisfied Connor into silence, and he caressed Neil's chest a moment longer. Neil gathered his thoughts, desperate for Connor to ask him something so he knew what to say, and finally admitted, "I've been considering seeking a secondary degree in the sciences. I was considering seeking a doctorate in genetics, for research purposes."_

_"You'd be an excellent scientist, with your curiosity."_

_"You don't think the two pursuits stand at odds?"_

_"You want to know the world. I see nothing wrong with that." Connor's hand squeezed over his heart, and Neil felt the pressure seize around his belly. "You want to know God and Earth. You want so much. Why?"_

_He gave the same answer as always: "Curiosity."_

_"And what will make you happy? Or if not happy, satisfied?" Connor's hand landed on his cheek to turn it, and Neil twisted around to face him._

_Words could not express, but at the same time, there was another answer, one he knew he couldn't give. He only pressed his forehead to Connor's, nose to nose, and felt a soft giggle escape Connor's smiling lips. "I do want much. I could have a lot," he said, against Connor's mouth. "But I don't think anything in particular will satisfy me completely."_

_"I suppose the flame of God consumes much." Connor slung his arms around Neil's neck, and his eyelashes brushed Neil's cheek, as Neil's face burned. "I see why you changed your name, then."_

_Neil's lips nearly touched Connor's."Do you?" He glanced off of his face and drew back, but Connor captured his cheek in his cool palm._

_"Names have power._ _You're hiding yours. What do you think you'll do with that power when you have it?"_

_Neil laughed, even as Connor nodded against his shoulder. "What will I do," he repeated flatly, and Connor hummed. "I'm not sure yet. But won't it be fun? Who knows? I might even change the world."_

_"Ah." Connor fluffed his hair. "I believe you just might, but don't get ahead of yourself. For now, just stay here, with me." Neil let Connor run his hand through his hair and down his neck, then leaned back into Connor's embrace, absorbed into Connor's element, and closed his eyes, Connor's heartbeat against his back lulling him down..._

But that heart had stopped beating a decade ago, and even before that, he'd had to share it with drifters, children, anyone who Connor deemed worthy of a smile and a touch of that soft hand. The other side of the bed he slept in had been occupied by a dozen others who didn't care that he'd married himself to God long ago, bright moonlight interrupted by shadows of what he'd lost. If nothing else, he was a happy widower.

"What do you think I'll do?" He asked the moon, as it peered through the clouds, smiling clearly against the dark, but clearing skies. Then, he laughed. "Just you wait. Tomorrow, I'm going to set this city ablaze."

* * *

The sun blazed on his eyelids for a split second before being swallowed by clouds, but it was enough to get Jo to open his eyes. His head spun as he tried to grasp his bearings, because he'd woken up in weird places before (unfamiliar beds or couches, gutters a few times, tied to a chair in a church basement once), but he had woken sitting up on a stairway and wasn't sure he knew where he was this time. The last thing he could remember was getting ushered out of the bar at last call, and being too drunk to know where he was walking. He blinked the grit from his eyes-damn, his head hurt-until he started to recognize the crumbling brownstones across the street, the criss-crossed shadow of the Long Fence on the jagged asphalt, and the familiar cracks in the sidewalk: he was on the side steps of K-One.

The door opened behind him, and Jo spun to see Gage hanging out of the double doors. A wedge of white bandages peeked through the collar of his shirt, but Gage was standing upright on his own power, and after a moment taking Jo in, he smiled. "Hey. G'morning." He rattled on quickly, not giving Jo a chance to get a word in edgewise: "Dad says you can come in for morning services, and after that he'll get you some clean clothes and breakfast. Door's open." With that, he vanished and let the door fall shut behind him, but Jo didn't hear the deadbolt this time.

He hefted himself up to his feet, shaking his hair out and feeling the oil and dust running through it. "Last night, two steps from Hell. Today, here." He chuckled mirthlessly to himself, then pushed the door into the humid warmth of the shelter.

The hangover set in as he crossed into the sanctuary, his head throbbing and his tongue suddenly too dry, and even the slight shift in light, the dark entryway into the bright glow of the windows, ached his eyes. He could see right through it, though, and realized that there was only one other person in the congregation: Harley, shuddering in the second pew on the left, his hair sloppy even from behind. His mouth opened, but words didn't come. There were too many, they all garbled up in his throat and teeth, and it became a mass of nothing.

He closed his eyes, steeled himself, and trudged to the right side and sank into the second pew, all the way next to the window. It was colder there, but that almost felt refreshing. He slumped over, hiding his eyes in the shade of the back of the first bench, the guilt and sorrow that had infested his bones twisting its way into his gut and intestines.

_Man who loves you_ , Mercy's voice helpfully reminded him from the back of his mind.

A new shadow cast over him, and Harley, his voice faint and tremulous, forced himself to speak. "Is it alright?" Jo tilted an eye up to him, his vision still blurry and bleary, but he could see black-blue rings under Harley's eyes, red lines up and down his arms where his fingernails had dragged, and his thin shoulders trembled. Enough that Jo could see it. "Do you... mind if I'm here?"

Jo couldn't think for a moment, all the words choking him up, but finally mumbled out, "It's a free fuckin' country."

He realized he should have expected a witty comeback, about how disappointed Floridians would be or some crack about at least using protection with France, but Harley instead nodded a few times and scurried back to his seat. Jo felt a distinct pang of loss, but the guilt welled up in him and Just a moment later, Steele passed by up the center aisle with an armful of pillows, laid them on the front pew near the center, and pointed, and Gage shuffled in after him and made himself comfortable. Jo could see him arranging the pillows on his sides, and noticed Steele at the altar, taking a sip from a glass of water and leafing through his Bible. He leaned closer to Gage.

"So, uh, is it Sunday? I kinda lost track, but I don't think it's Sunday."

Gage shook his head. "Dad usually gives a short form mass every morning. He hasn't so much, since it's just me an' Harl around, but he said he wanted to do one today. He said he needs to keep his voice in shape."

"Oh." And Jo let himself crumple back into his seat, but spoke aloud for the room. "Hey, uh, Father, since it's just the four of us and I got a killer hangover, if you could manage the volume on those pipes, I'd really appreciate it."

Steele grunted an indistinct affirmation, then cleared his throat. Gage spun around in his spot and sat alert, but both Jo and Harley remained slumped or slouching in place. Steele inhaled, and began to sing...

Exactly as loud as ever. Shit, that made his headache just _throb_ , but he couldn't interrupt. Steele paused briefly, allowing Gage to answer him with an "Amen," before taking up the tune again. His voice echoed and filled the room like morning light, roaring in Jo's ears like a hurricane. Maybe everything just felt louder because it was an empty room. He cringed through his headache and just tried to enjoy it, because when there wasn't the muffling murmur of human noise around them, Steele had the clarity of glass, every note and phrase pure and on pitch. He finished the first song, but instead of moving right into the next, he spoke. "We open with the Greeting and the Penitential Act. I prefer to include the Kyrie Eleison with the Penitential Act, except around Easter, when I include a reminder of the Baptism. For purposes of brevity, we will omit the Gloria in Excelsis, but those who can rise kindly do so for prayer, after which we will enjoy a moment of silence in the presence of the Lord - Gage, sit down or I will make you."

Gage had been the only one of them who'd tried to stand, and Jo glanced over to see Harley shivering. He knew that side of the room was warmer, but Harley was hugging his elbows and rocking. Jo could see him mouthing a few of the words along with Steele, and had a gut-churning realization: something was wrong with Harley. He was pale, his eyes glassy and lifeless, like a fish who hadn't been kept on ice. His lips were nearly blue, with red crescents where he'd bit them over and over. He was sick, or if not sick, then there was something worse.

That 'something worse' came to him in the moment of silence, as he remembered that Harley had no income, and his medicines were probably damned expensive. He'd gone off of them. He was watching Harley lose his mind, lose himself, at ten paces, and he still couldn't bring himself to say anything.

Steele continued to pause between prayers and songs to explain what each one was, and for the first time, Jo got a feel for the flow of the service. He had a feeling it was being done entirely for his benefit, since Gage likely knew it by heart and even if Harley didn't, Jo had a feeling Harley wasn't here anymore. Checked out. Out to lunch. Try back never. Ain't that the goddamned way, Jo finally got in the same room with him again, and he was, for all intents and purposes, gone.

The prayer welled, and it ached through Jo, but not because the noise worsened his headache anymore. Steele sounded mournful even as he affirmed his faith in the Nicene Creed, his face pensive and somber instead of wrought with its usual annoyance. Jo wished he understood a single one of the pretty words spilling from him. Maybe Steele was trying to make him understand. He wished he could mourn, but the words weren't coming. Still, something was, and every note of prayer stoked his heart to blaze in his throat.

It wasn't the song, or the prayers, that was helping. Something about the pure sound, and the silences between, were clearing Jo's mind, putting other worries aside, and letting him just _look_ at Harley, let him _think_. Think about the last time they'd spoken. Think about everything that had come before that. Think about shared smiles and stupid jokes and quiet nights listening to the radio. Jo wasn't much for thinking, but when he could think, all he wanted to think about was Harley, what they'd had. How much he wanted that back.

No. More.

There was no distribution of crackers and wine, but Steele finished once more and waited for the last echoes of his own voice to fade out. "Normally, at this point in the procession, a priest would make time for announcements. Usually, there are no announcements to be made here, but I will open the floor. Does anybody in the congregation have anything they would like to say?" Steele took another sip from his glass, then stepped back, arms crossed, and waited. Jo looked over to Harley, hoping for something, anything. Harley's face didn't move, but he seemed to know Jo was watching, waiting, something, _anything_.

He cringed, his whole face turning red. "I'm so sorry, Joel." He was barely audible, his voice a strained squeak, but otherwise flat and emotionless. "I never, I never... for everything. For dying on you, Joel. For making you... for... I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

And like a shaft of light had streaked through the clouds, Jo suddenly had words. "Enough." He got up to a stand, and felt something shift in his jacket pocket. He reached in and found Harley's notebook, and heard Harley gasp from across the room. Jo set his lips into a flat line, but held the notebook up. "You've already said everything you needed to say right here. It's my turn." He crossed the room, to Harley's side, dropped down onto his knees in front of him, and laid the book in his lap. "I've been doing a lot of thinking these past few weeks, and it hasn't gotten me nowhere. I ain't smart, like you, and I damn sure ain't perfect." He tried to look up into Harley's face, but Harley's expression was flat and betrayed nothing. "But I know I've messed up, and it's caused a lot of problems. I got us into this mess, though, so I'm gonna get us out. You deserve that."

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead into Harley's bony knees. "I don't know how I'm gonna do it yet, but I am. I don't know much, but I'm sure of two things: I'm an ass, and I love you. I'm not sure there's anything I can do about either of those any more, but I'm damn sure gonna try." And with that, he pushed himself up onto the bench, knelt up, and kissed Harley on the mouth.

Harley's mouth opened to Jo's, but Jo didn't feel him move, only tremble. When Jo did draw back, Harley lifted a hand to his mouth, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, but he still didn't say a word. It didn't matter. Jo took both of his hands and whispered, his mouth so close to Harley's he could still taste him, "Stop blaming yourself for something we both wanted. I'm the one who's gotta be sorry here. You just sit tight. I said I'd keep you safe, and I will. I'm gonna fix this." He kissed Harley's knuckles one by one, then let go of him, rose to a stand in front of him and strode back into the aisle. "Father, you go on and finish without me. I gotta make a phone call." He found his phone in his pocket and marched to the back of the room in his own recessional, determination in his every step, even though Harley hadn't moved from when Jo had left him. He stepped into the connecting hall but left the door open, and made sure that the others could hear him. "Benny, tell me where I need to be and when. I'm gonna be there, Hell or high water."


	32. Pieces in Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Genie Maoh each make their preparations.

Gage dragged Jo to the back hall by his wrist and gave him a razor and a bar of soap, and Jo took the message by ruffling the kid's hair so hard he stumbled away dizzy. "Go on, kid, your Dad wouldn't want you talking to a lowlife like me." Gage had stopped, and he cast a hurt look back at Jo, then shuffled off. Jo pushed his own hurt under and went to the communal showers to make himself presentable.

He ended up hanging out under the shower head until the water went cold before he remembered the razor. When he got out, still smearing off the nick just under the cleft of his chin, he found fresh clothes - socks, boxers, his favorite Metallica tee - waiting for him outside of the linen closet, and only one explanation for how they got there came to him. He looked around for Harley, but no dice.

Gage and Steele were at one of the tables in the main room, with emptied plates pushed aside, but one plate remained waiting with an egg-and-bacon sandwich and a stack of tomato slices. Neither of them said a word to him as he sank to sit next to Gage and devoured the best breakfast he'd ever had.

Steele spoke, rough, raspy, and more than a little tired, when Jo had cleared his plate: "What are you going to do?"

"I'm still workin' on the exact plan." Jo wiped his mouth, drained the glass of orange juice, and put it with the rest of the stack. "But I got a lot of ideas." He took all the plates to the sink, only to find a note in unsteady hand:

_"Leave it. I'll get them later."_

Jo's jacket smelled like laundry detergent when he found it on the hanger, and he found fabric softener sheets stuffed into all the pockets. He checked behind him, in case Harley was watching, before emptying the pockets out and putting it on.

He'd spoken only to Benny's answering machine, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Between what Benny had said before and Jenning's personal offer, he knew Benny wouldn't be able to resist. He kept one hand on his phone over his pocket as he strolled down too-quiet streets, hanging close to buildings and far from the sidewalk. A fresh box of cigarettes was waiting for him when he felt around inside of his jacket pockets, but he didn't feel like smoking. Instead, he walked North, listening, feeling, waiting.

Even after brushing his teeth and eating, after walking half a mile, Jo could still taste Harley's mouth and feel his lips against his. Heat pooled in his stomach at the thought, but it just made him sad. He tried not to think about it, instead sinking back in to the creak and groan of the city around him, the rhythm of traffic and speeding wheels, the dissonant music of too many voices.

He felt his phone buzz as he waited for a crosswalk, and checked it to see that Benny had texted him back: _"You in?"_

Jo typed back, _"No marks yet, but I'm coming. Just tell me where and when."_

He carefully circled around the block that Go West called headquarters and made for the garage, fingers crossed. He turned out to be in luck, because Yakim was snoozing at the desk and that would make this easy. Jo shook his shoulder, and summoned up all his charm with a sympathetic smile: "Yo, Yakim, buddy, you still hittin' the sauce?"

Yakim yawned, but fixed Jo with a weary glower when he did open his eyes. "'Ey, Jojo, you deal with your shit your way, I deal with mine, mine." He was somewhere between the accent and his natural voice, and Jo silently wondered if he'd gotten worse.

"Ain't givin' you shit, man, just worried. Look, I need a favor. My bike chain broke yesterday, and I ordered a new one, but I don't want Kenny to find out." He crossed his fingers that Yakim was still drunk from the night before, and from the way Yakim was following his motions, like his eyeballs were floating on foam, Jo figured he might be in luck. "Is it cool if I borrow one of the bikes from here for today?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." Jo resisted the urge to celebrate that Yakim was too far gone to forget he'd been fired, as Yakim heaved himself up and fetched one of the spare delivery bikes from the back area.

"You're the best, man, I'll bring it back." Jo adjusted the seat and hopped on, almost feeling at home when he set his feet to the pedals. "And, hey, do me a favor and don't tell Kenny. I'm on thin ice with him anyway."

Yakim scoffed. "We've all been. Ever since..." He scrunched his nose as he thought, then snapped to attention when it hit him, but before he could say a word, Jo had put his foot down and sped off, shouting over his shoulder:

"I'll chain it up when I get back!"

The wind in his hair felt nice. Moving this fast made him feel lighter than air, even if it only meant crashing back down when he had to stop.

* * *

Steele was waiting for Jo at the door when he returned, and raised an eyebrow when he unloaded a few Home Depot bags, then his stereo from the bike basket and carried it in on his shoulder with the bag looped around his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I figured I'd need 'em." Jo shifted the stereo's weight on his bicep - a few weeks out of work had softened him a little, but thankfully not by much- but trudged past him, even as his phone buzzed again. Steele spun on his heel and followed him through the vestibule.

"What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I thought I said." Jo swung the stereo down and set it carefully down on the nearest table, dropped all the bags, then kicked his leg up onto the bench and leaned on his bent knee to dig his phone out. "I'm gonna keep Harley safe."

"What, by trying to ally yourself with them?" Steele was growling, his fists clenched, his shoulders drawn back tight. "You think you can buy off protection for him? At what cost?"

"I ain't doin' that. I tried that. It got me nowhere. I ain't gonna help 'em." Jo hit send and turned his face up, lips pursed when he met Steele's gaze. "Price on that's too hefty. I don't think giving up my life's gonna help anyone. If I lose my freedom on this one, though, that's a fair trade." He shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket. "I'm going to try to break it up."

"Break it up?" Steele's tone broke with genuine curiosity, but he shook it off and frowned again. "How?" Jo shrugged, and Steele scoffed, then gestured to the speakers. "And what the fuck are you going to do with those?"

Jo's eyebrows knit up, and he put on a smirk. "For Gage. I won't need 'em anymore, y'know?"

"You're full of shit," Steele hissed. Jo shrugged again, then turned to sit on the bench and took his phone out again. He started when he looked at it, and swiped the screen.

"Finally, you stupid bastard." Steele leaned over, but Jo gamely read the message aloud. "The old Pepsi plant, up next to the highway. Says to start heading over..." His brow furrowed. "When the riots start."

"When the riots..." Steele's eyebrows carved a deeper scowl, and he sat down next to Jo. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I have no idea." Jo shook his head. "They got a plan. Pepsi plant figures, anyway." He closed his text messages, and Steele noticed him flick his thumb over the store. "You walk half a mile from there down President under the expressway, it takes you right to the jailhouse. Ain't no cameras around there, either, just a bunch of homeless camps. Plus, if they've picked out the old plant in advance, they'll likely have someone there to cut any cameras that might be left operating. That's fine. They got their plans, I got mine." Jo patted the speakers, and flipped around on his phone another minute. Steele, his head bowed in thought, finally sighed and lightly punched Jo's shoulder.

"Do you really think you're going to do this alone?"

"I know you'll back me up if it comes down to the wire, Padre, but you gotta actually keep walls around them." Jo nodded over Steele's shoulder, and Steele glanced back. He could see Gage leaning over the sofa, with the news running on the television, but he realized Gage was talking to Harley, who was sunken in against the battered cushion. "Gage needs you, and... Harl..." Jo trailed off, then scrubbed his face with his hand. "You think I'm a fag, huh? It's even in that book of yours."

Steele sniffed, but broke eye contact and lowered his gaze to the floor. "It's all context. That book of mine thinks any sex is bad sex, unless it's for baby-making purposes. Even married couples aren't supposed to touch each other, if you read the original Greek. That old rag's been translated and mistranslated a dozen times, so it's hardly relevant anyway." He leaned back and spoke over Jo's head. "Here's what I can tell you. No matter what kind of sex is wrong, whether you think it says all sex is wrong or just most sex, there is nothing in that book that says a single fucking word about love, any kind of love, being right or wrong. As for the rest, we're all sinners anyway, and you're not even baptized." With that, Steele smacked his hand against his back- was that actually supposed to be a comforting gesture? Jo had to stare at Steele.

"You're actually kind of awful at this priest thing."

"So?" Steele yanked a cigarette from his Napoleon pocket and lit up, then held the lighter out for Jo. Jo found his box of Luckies, crumpled and a little smashed by now, but good enough, and touched the end of one to the flame.

"Yeah." Jo took the first drag, and felt the nicotine spark through his heart like life. "But you're a good guy."

"Huh."

"So, I can ask you." Jo waved his cigarette towards the sofa. "If this... does come down to it, if I get back in a cell over this-"

"Shut up." Steele ashed the last of his cigarette onto the table, then dusted the mess into his hand and stormed off, his cassock swishing around his legs, and Jo sighed and took another pull on his smoke.

He finished it too fast to enjoy it, then shuffled over to the sofa. He sat on the far end from Harley and Gage and let his eyes wander over the mundane images on the screen, the overly made-up newscaster, batting her false eyelashes, reading the usual bad news with mild interest. He waited for the commercial break, before speaking up without pulling his eyes from the television: "Thanks for bringing my clothes over, Harl. And thank you for breakfast." He paused, daring to look to Harley, as he saw Harley's gaze _just_ slide towards him. Harley mouthed a 'you're welcome,' and his focus and face fell again.

Jo let himself sink into the sound of the news, half running through his ideas in his head, half listening. Steele settled behind him, and Jo answered the question he didn't ask. "If there's gonna be riots, this is probably where I'll hear about it." Steele grunted, and that was that.

Tense silence filled the space between them, but at least it didn't feel hollow.

* * *

Genie Maoh ended her call as she pushed open the shop door, the brilliant sunlight gleaming off of the jewels planted on her acrylics and embedded in the plastic of her bug-like sunglasses. Zack scantly looked up from his computer, fingers still scrambling over the keys, and chewed his lower lip even as she trotted to the front of the desk and drummed her fingernails on the vinyl until he seemed to notice she was there. "Oh, Ge- Ms. Maoh," he rasped, then grinned. "Sorry, been a couple all-nighters finishing this up for ya."

"As long as it's done." She slid her phone into her purse pocket, then leaned over the counter, deliberately pushing her bosom towards his face. He stared, a stupid smile sliding into place under the bags ringing his eyes, but shook it off and turned the screen of his laptop towards her.

"Looking for this?" He beamed, as she studied the screen: a blueprint of Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy Correctional Center, with a line of tabs along the top and sides. Genie gestured for him to go on with a twirl of her hand and a roll of her eyes, and he clicked along the tabs, scrolling to the different stories of the building. "I was just finishing the debug, but I think I've worked the kinks out. It's interactive, see? I've taken all their schedules and simulations and emergency plans and spiffed it up to make it easier for you to navigate, and even took the liberty of plotting a few recommended routes in and out." He pushed the laptop towards her, and let her test the tabs for herself. "Plus, when I put it on your iPad, it'll be touchscreen. I've mirrored their system to yours, so you'll be able to track the guard shifts, check cameras, hell, I've even made a simulation of the usual guard beats."

"And you said you'd downloaded their contingency plans?"

"All of them. It's so easy the guys working for you could handle it for you. All you'll have to do is tap into their radios to figure out what they're doing." Zack set his hands on his hips. "It's perfect, ma'am. Tell me this isn't exactly what you wanted!" He bowed, as she giggled and tapped around, her nails loud against the keys.

"You lived up to your boasts. Alright, get it on my iPad." She pulled the device in its case from her handbag and slid it over to Zack. He took his laptop and removed an SD chip, then took off the back of her iPad to install it. She slunk towards the window, peering out and around through the flimsy plastic blinds as he fiddled with the wires. He glanced up at her a few times, her shapely bottom only further flattered by her almost unreasonably high heels. She was almost too nice to look at, but it made up for her being a raging bitch under all that makeup.

"Here we go, Ms. Maoh." He flipped the reassembled iPad back around and opened the program with a swipe. She trotted right back over and snapped it out of his hands, hardly even looking at him, and tapped a few things.

"Perfect. Just what I needed." She tapped a few more times, giggling with vapid amusement, and Zack leaned forward, elbow on the desk, as she continued to play around with the program.

"Well, uh, it's what you asked for, ma'am." He wiggled an eyebrow and put on a winning smile. "Now, not to be blunt, but I believe you promised some sort of special reward for getting this done on time?"

"Oh." Genie's amusement was wiped out in an instant, and she circled around the counter. "Of course, the business end. Tell me, is this program still on your computer?" She indicated his laptop with a wave of her hand.

"Yes'm, that rig's a custom-" He broke off when she reached past him and unplugged the machine. "Hey, uh, I wouldn't- it's sensitive, y' know, I do all my programming on there!"

"Oh, Zack, that's not important." Genie clicked her tongue and put the laptop under her arm, then glanced to the dark back room. "Did you do any work on any of these computers, or are they all just shells?"

"Those are just spare parts, but-"

"See, sweetie, we have to be sure nothing gets traced back here. Just in case." She winked and tapped him on the nose, and he brushed her off.

"That's fine, I can make that happen, and I can make it vanish off my computer, but ma'am, I gotta say, you're actin' funny." He reached for his laptop, but she tightened her hold with a blithe smile.

"It's a good day. I'm in a good mood. But with this business settled, I've got your reward." She backed towards the back room, standing just in the door, and he shifted after her as if to follow. "Something you won't get anywhere else."

Just then, the scream of sirens came from outside, flashing blue and red lights blared through the windows, and Zack's heart jumped into his throat. Genie grabbed his chin and whispered: "Fame."

Two police officers crashed through the door, and Genie screamed like she was going for an Oscar in a horror movie, lifting her hands to her mouth and letting the laptop clatter to the ground. She pointed at Zack and shrieked, "HE HAS A GUN! HE HAS A GUN!" Zack barely had time to swear before bolting through the upstairs, even as Genie cried after him, "He's going out the fire escape!" Zack's heart thudded loud in his ear, panic roaring through him as he tore through the empty upstairs office and to the fire escape, but when he pushed the door, he had no idea what to expect.

He had no way of knowing Genie Maoh had called the police and told them he was holding her at gunpoint. He had no way of knowing there would be five more police waiting outside, guns all trained on him, two at his chest, three at his head. He tried to hold his hands up, but those triggers were just too quick.

He didn't know. He couldn't know. He would never know.

Zack's body crumpled and collapsed over the railing, blood running down his neck and chest. The last thing he knew was that the world was vanishing, like it had all been one grand illusion, and he closed his eyes, mercifully numb.

Genie Maoh, after stomping a hole clean through Zack's laptop with the point of her stiletto, crept out the front door and to the crowd that had gathered in fascination to watch, and she was the first to say a word, and directly into the ears of the nearest young people: "He was surrendering. He wasn't even armed!"

More voices, and she wasn't sure if they were her plants or people in genuine disbelief, joined in, "They just shot him 'cause they think all Shangri-La are gangsters and criminals."

"They didn't even give him a chance!"

"Those sons of bitches never give us a chance!"

The roaring started, and Genie saw plenty of people getting out their phones, taking pictures, sending messages, making phone calls, each piece on her chessboard moving exactly as she'd hoped they would, and giggled with glee.

It had begun.

* * *

"... News out of Chance Harbor." Even Gage looked up from chattering into Harley's ear at this, as the picture-in-picture expanded to a bird's-eye camera over a familiar-looking street crammed wall-to-wall with angry, screaming young people, some with their faces covered. Jo sat forward, his jaw falling, because he knew the intersection of First and Adams, right down to that ugly white mural on the side of the computer repair shop, and the camera was picking up audio:

"No justice, no peace! Stop killer cops!"

The newscaster narrated over the footage: "Police were called to this computer repair shop after a woman claimed she was being held hostage by the shop owner, whom was suspected of having ties to Chance Harbor's organized crime syndicates. What was likely merely a childish prank exploded when the shop owner ran, and police, believing the man to be armed and dangerous, subdued the man with lethal force."

"Holy shit." Jo clapped a hand over his mouth. "You don't mean to tell me-"

"The shooting death of Zachary Ro," the newscaster continued, "has caused already high-tensions in the poverty-stricken, high-crime Little Shangri-La quarter of Chance Harbor to explode."

The feed cut away to a college-aged girl with crooked teeth and a scowl, shouting at the camera, "They shoot first and ask questions never! Just 'cause we're Shangri-La, they think we're all criminals!"

Another interviewee, an man a little older than them, added in a growl, "Even if he was doing something wrong, nobody should die like that."

Then, a third person, a young man wearing a scarf over part of his face, glowered into the camera, and Jo nearly crawled out of his skin at the sight of him as he spoke: "They don't care. They just don't care. They let us get shot up and killed for nothing. We gotta take care of our own. That's why we're going to make 'em care."

"I know him," Jo growled over the news program, but Steele and Harley couldn't tear their eyes away. "He's been around Benny, he's just there to rile it up."

"It's a self-sustaining storm," Harley whispered, and the newscaster piped in to agree with him:

"Even now, social media coverage by witnesses is stirring the pot further, as young people communicate on Twitter and Facebook, passing news of the incident along with plans for protests. Already, a local mall has been overrun by teenagers, looting and causing destruction, and a local corner store has been set on fire." The camera feed changed, showing a human chain across a major roadway, with police helicopters hovering low and SWAT teams, shields and all, closing in on scrawny men in hoodies and shouting women. "Highway routes have been blocked off by protestors, demanding attention to their cause..."

"Fires and riots," Jo laughed weakly, slapping his own forehead. "Of course. It's brilliant." Steele and Gage both whipped around to look at him, their unspoken question clear, as he laughed like a sob into his cupped hands.

To their surprise, the answer came from the other end of the sofa: "If the police and fire departments are otherwise occupied elsewhere in the city," Harley whispered, "then there will be no first responders to assist prison authorities should a prison break occur."

"Look at 'em," Jo moaned in follow-up, flapping his hand at the screen. "They're all bunched up in the center of the quarter. That store on fire's down on 40th and Clinton, in the Southeast, and the big riot's spreading like a plague from the dead center. They're gonna be everywhere but near the jailhouse." He chuckled through a despondent, hangdog expression, dragging at his eyelids as he scrubbed a hand down his face. "I even asked Benny. I asked him, what would they do about the fucking cops? He said they had a plan."

"Fucking Christ, they planned this?!" Steele brought his fist down on the arm of the sofa, as Harley mumbled something that sounded like, 'oh, I wouldn't do that,' then glared at Jo. "How does someone plan this?!"

"It's like she said on the tape," Jo muttered, and slumped in on himself, elbows on his knees and hands still clasped over his mouth. "The city's a tinderbox, all she had to do was strike a match. She strikes the match and sets off her fucking sparks, and the whole thing goes up. She just plants a few more mules to stir things up once they get going naturally, and we've got a good old-fashioned Chance Harbor bonfire." The others all stared, as he crumpled a little more. "And if she gets G. Maoh out, she'll have a flamethrower. All because she's horny and Neil Jenning is bored."

There was a tense stretch of silence but for the mutter of the television, Gage shivering, Steele's knees and elbows tense and locked in place, before Harley spoke again. "But you have a plan too."

Jo took it in, then lurched to a stand and slammed his palm over the power button on the television. "I better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New playlist! "Friends and Others," for the side characters. Enjoy! https://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/staying-straight-friends-and-others


	33. Use What You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo makes his stand against the amassed gangs of Little Shangri-La.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 23 is Minekura Kazuya's birthday. I can think of no better occasion to post this chapter. Happy birthday, Sensei! Enjoy, everyone!

**31: Use What You Have**

Father Steele had turned the television back on at some point, and he and Harley watched as more riots and looting sprung up throughout Chance Harbor. Jo heard every location from his spot on the bench, but was much more interested in the game of Spider Solitaire Gage had laid out in front of them. He only rarely even glanced back to Harley's prim perch at the edge of the sofa, Steele standing over them, just made a mental note of each location as he kept score for Gage.

Ten of diamonds down over jack of spades. Road closure on Thirty-Ninth Street between Lincoln and Grant, towards the South and East. Jo couldn't be sure if the sirens he was hearing were real or echoing from the TV.

Seven of clubs moved from the eight of hearts to the clubs stack. The Rite-Aid at the corner of Third and Wilson was getting knocked over. Seemed the violence was spreading all over and way too quick.

Gage set an Ace and shoved a completed stack aside. Someone was firing a gun into the air on the block between Fourteenth and Fifteenth at Taft, near the center of the quarter. The chaos was still nowhere near Our Lady of Perpetual Peace, just like Jenning and the bitch probably wanted it.

The afternoon passed quietly. Steele turned the television off after a while and peered around to see Jo in the same place at the table, reshuffling the deck for Gage. "You done good, kiddo. You been practicing?"

"Yeah; it's been quiet, and Harl hasn't wanted to play with me, and Dad's been too worried about me. But y'know, it really is pretty simple now that I've figured out what to look for." Sirens squealed by outside, and Steele winced as their klaxons stabbed through the room. Gage merely sighed and pushed the deck back to Jo. "I'm sorry, but I'm tired."

"That's cool, kid." Jo ruffled his hair, then helped him up to his feet. Steele cut in and wrapped an arm tight around Gage to escort him out, one sweep of his arm away from just lifting him up and carrying him.

"Do you want me to wake you up for dinner?"

"You know it."

"Greedy little shit," Steele muttered through a hint of a fond chuckle, and Jo noticed his grip tighten a little more. Harley hadn't moved, and he'd been all but catatonic for the last two hours. Jo stared at the back of his head over the edge of the couch, his thin neck and frail shoulders, then took a breath and got up.

"Hey, Harl? I'm gonna go get my boots on and stuff." He paced a step towards him, making sure his foot hit the tile with a slap. Harley didn't react to the noise or Jo's proximity. "I'm gonna go out there, and I'm gonna do whatever I can to stop this. I want ya to do me a solid." He took a few steps closer, still speaking to Harley's back and the images of the saints over the windows. "I dunno if I'm gonna make it back. If I don't, I wanna ask you to start taking your meds again." He put his hand on the back of the sofa, fingernails nearly touching the nape of Harley's neck. "If it comes down to it, and I never see you again, then I wanna know that the best thing in my world goes on to be the best thing in his own world again. I know you, so I know what you're thinking. You probably are still upset about the fight we had, and I don't know how else to say I'm sorry for what I said and what I did, but you gotta know I did it 'cause I cared for you. 'Cause you're great, and you deserve to be happy and safe." Jo withdrew his hands into a helpless shrug. "Please. Not even for me. Do it for you." He turned back and trudged towards the vestibule. "I'll miss you." Jo didn't see Harley turn halfway around, his good eye following his retreating back.

Lacing his boots again seemed to take way longer than usual, but Jo squinted through the orange shafts of sunset shooting through the narrow side windows to accomplish it. He could still hear roaring tires as police vans sped past, south, away from the destination he had in mind. He'd just finished tying his laces and stood up when the door to the sanctuary opened and shut again, and Jo jumped up, only to have to hold back a sigh as Steele approached.

"Were you going to tell Gage you were leaving?"

"I figured I'd ask you to pass it on." Jo shrugged his jacket on, adjusted it and zipped it halfway, not quite looking at Steele as he strode close and stopped in front of him. Steele studied his face, lip curling, then reached into his cassock pocket again. Jo knew that was the pistol pocket and flinched, but when he opened his eyes, Steele was holding the barrel and offering Jo the grip.

"You might need this." Jo raised an eyebrow, as Steele grimaced. "Only for emergencies. I don't think you have it in you to actually kill anyone, but if someone points a gun at you, you need something to point back." Steele held the gun up and tossed it into his other hand, catching it by the grip, then turned the gun around. "Safety's right here. It's on right now. Do you know how to use one of these?"

"Just like the movies, innit?" Jo mimicked a pistol with his hand. "Cock back the hammer, index on the trigger, point, and shoot."

"Except it's not going to be just like the movies. First, you don't have to cock back the hammer anymore. Don't expect to hit anything if you do have to fire. If you're really trying to aim, use the sight, but just try to scare them off. Most punks like you wave a gun but don't have the guts to fire it, either." Steele twirled the pistol on his finger, watching the light catch off of the polished carbon. "Do me a favor, though." Steele looked dead into Jo's face. "I just cleaned it, and it's a pain in the ass. Don't get it dirty. That means aiming it correctly if you do fire. That means-" He pointed the pistol to his own forehead. "Do not aim it here." He pointed it into his chest. "It does not go here." He rested the barrel on his lower lip. "And never here." He lowered it, still holding Jo's focus. "It points away from you or at the ground at all times. Do I make myself clear?"

A chill ran down Jo's spine, because Steele hadn't flinched or blinked through his entire demonstration. Steele, however, merely tossed the gun back to his other hand, caught it by the barrel, and held the handle out to Jo again. "One last thing. This gun is registered to me. If you are caught with it and I am questioned about how you acquired it, I will state that it was stolen. You must bring it back to me. I expect you to put this weapon back into my hands. Do I make myself clear?"

Jo swallowed, and grasped the handle. "Crystal." He checked the safety, then tucked the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Thanks, Padre." He bent down and picked something up, and only now did Steele see he had his stereo under his arm.

Jo mounted the stereo on the basket of his borrowed bike and strapped it down, but instead of hopping on to ride, he walked, holding the handlebars. He figured moving slower would give him a chance to see cops coming, because he knew even at top speed he couldn't outrun them. Better to hide. His shadow was cast long across the dilapidated street, sinking into the cracks and spreading across the craggy stretches of limestone-speckled tar, and stretched ever longer as the sun sank. Jo could hear screaming from a few streets away, indistinct but rhythmic chanting over the drum of stomping. He didn't have to know what they were saying to know they were only drumming things up worse. Instead, he sank back in his own thoughts and roved over the details of his plan again.

Damn if it wasn't going to suck to get arrested with someone else's gun in his pocket. Plus, this would all go belly up if his speakers weren't as good as he'd paid for.

The sun was nearly gone and the chanting in the distance had only grown louder. However, the marching had taken on a weird quality. Every once in a while, somewhere in the backbeat of the droning rhythm, Jo would hear a single step out of syncopation, and closer all the time. It was only when he turned for the highway in the West that he noticed another shadow stretching long behind his, and turned around to see that Harley was twenty feet behind him. He startled when Jo faced him, then lifted a hand and a shaky smile in greeting. Jo kicked out the stand on the bike and hurried back towards him to speak low and gentle, "Hey, what're you doing here? It's dangerous out here. Go on back to the mission."

To his surprise, Harley responded with clear lucidity, eye contact and all. "It is dangerous out here. And yet, here you are, out here, alone." He smiled, actually smiled, and despite himself, Jo believed it. "You shouldn't go alone. Take me with you."

"Oh no, no way. Harl, you know better, you know you really need to be somewhere quiet and safe. Go on back and-"

"Ah, then the sooner we finish this errand, the sooner we can return." Harley's smile hardened in place. Jo couldn't help but smother an uncomfortable groan. He could never win an argument with Harley and he knew it. It seemed that even Harley's lacking sanity wasn't changing that.

"You don't know what I'm gonna do-"

"I imagine we have a bit more to walk while you explain." Harley walked past Joel and took hold of the bike's handlebars. "We're wasting daylight, and I imagine there's an invisible deadline. We really should hurry."

"Harley!" Jo whipped around and grabbed the bike back. "You're off your meds, you're not well, and I'm not letting you wander around with half your brain gone."

"Ah?" Harley raised an eyebrow, his smile sinking away. "Unfortunately, I was rather counting on that. From my recollection, I'll begin to feel the effects of the antipsychotics, if only somewhat, in approximately six hours, and I was counting on a lack of self-control to assist me in this endeavor."

That stopped Jo cold. "You took your medicine."

Harley's mouth shifted back into a tiny, almost proud grin. "I've taken two doses. One this morning, the next approximately fifteen minutes ago. Just like you asked me, Joel."

Jo actually reached over the bike and grabbed Harley's hands. "You took 'em," he repeated, hardly able to believe that something, _something_ was going the way he wanted. Harley, for his part, held Jo's hands in return.

"I remembered that I should."

Jo felt warmth roll through him from his gut and to his chest, even as he craned his neck forward and let his jaw fall in shock. Then, he sighed and shook his hair back. "Fuck it, I can't stop you. Let's go."

He held the handlebars to walk the bike, winding through alleys and up side streets, and Harley walked near him, close and quiet. Jo tried a few times to start telling him what was about to happen, but he kept catching sight of Harley's eyes and face and feeling the words dry up. As the street grew dimmer and dimmer, the noise ratcheted higher, coming in waves as they passed protest spots. Jo had remembered the location of each protest from the news, and wove around them with only a few glances at the street signs. Harley walked on the other side of the bike, the pale skin of his face catching the last blood-red spots of sun, then the yellow gleam of flickering street lights. The light of the city faded, however, as they crossed from Washington up towards President, and from there under the expressway. The homeless encampments were all shuttered up, the drifters all closed in, tents drawn closed, blankets drawn up. Jo only spotted a few heads turning as they wandered past through shafts of shadow and burning streetlight. He hoped none of them recognized him from K-One. The sidewalks they were on were otherwise empty and quiet, even the roar of the riots dulled by distance.

"It was a factory district," Harley explained as they passed a derelict warehouse, the white streetlights reflecting in jags off of a cracked window. "The West side of the quarter was where our progenitors, or the progenitors of the modern Little Shangri-La made their fortunes, as such they were, when the city was founded. It was healthy for unskilled laborers and for the innovators of the past alike. This was once the city center, before the local government first designated the Eastern side of the city as the 'Shangri-La historical district,' and then further shaved it down as territory was claimed by suburbs and developments into the quarter as we know it. As American-owned businesses shifted their manufacturing operations to Africa, India, or even to some of the Shangri-La Empire's sphere of influence, where labor laws are more lax and with absolutely no penalty for outsourcing of labor, and as opportunities shuttered with every barred door, the beast of poverty reared her ugly head over the Shangri-La expatriates and has borne down on them ever since. She grows heavier by the year, rages more fiercely, and yet, still we come, hoping for a second chance, but finding nothing but a losing battle into which we have involuntarily been conscripted."

Jo sniffed, glancing up and around at the darkened windows. He was seeing flashes of blue light in some of the reflections, but not from the highway above, and definitely not the few lamps that weren't broken or burned out. "Yeah?" His lip curled as he thought it back through. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not, not particularly. There are factors of unfair wage laws, of institutional racism, of our own attitudes both taught and ingrained, and even of the self-perpetuating cycle of crime and vengeance that fuels us, but then," Harley chuckled meaninglessly, "those are a bit complex for an introductory lesson."

"Yeah." Jo shook his head. "Guess so. So, how do we fix it?"

Harley didn't answer, until they came around a building and saw the lay of the land. "Not like this."

Jo took one look, and quickly backed Harley up with a sweep of his arm. "Come on, let's sneak over to the quarry wall down the edge of the building. If this is gonna work, we're gonna need to surprise 'em."

Both of them had seen what was past the building, what waited in the parking lot. In the shadow of the shuttered Pepsi bottling plant, under the decrepit blue and red sign, at least a thousand men had gathered. They were in four uneven groups, likely by affiliation if Jo had to guess, and though he hadn't gotten a good look, he was seeing weapons in too many hands and more being passed around. Likely, all those guns that Benny stole and weapons that had been stolen in other smash-and-grabs were going directly into any open hand. Anyone who he didn't see getting a gun was likely already armed, and just because he didn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. The floodlights were on, surprisingly still operational, and coated the scene of milling bodies with bright blue light. In the center of it all, though, there was a raised platform on the end of a set of steps, and of course, there was Genie Maoh, in all her glory, hair wrapped with a loud green scarf that looped around it and hung down her back, still balanced on her high heels. She was waving and shouting around her, blowing insincere kisses like she was on a parade float. Beside and a step behind her, Jo could just make out the sinister shadow of Neil Jenning. Jo took in the scene with a slow breath in, then, just as slowly, released it.

"That's a lot of guys. I mean, a lot."

"You knew it would be," Harley murmured. Jo nodded, then steeled himself, determination sturdy in his brow and set in his clenched jaw.

"Yeah. Well." He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out the Home Depot bags, then crouched down to yank out two extension cords still packaged in clamshells and stuffing something else back in. "They're just a bunch of fucking assholes. Help me with these."

As Harley and Jo worked the cords from the hard plastic, murmurs swept the crowd in turn, nothing loud enough or distinct enough for either of them to pick out. However, Jo felt the quiet settle in, and glanced over his shoulder in time to see Neil Jenning step forward on the podium like a conductor lifting his baton over a symphony. Without communicating, Harley moved to stand just behind the edge of the shadows to watch, as Jo took the loop of wire and hunted for an outlet, as, at the front of the crowd, Jenning spoke.

"Friends, neighbors..." He paused, then raised his hands. "Men of Shangri-La!" There was a cheer, all shouting out as if on cue. Jenning waved for them to silence. "This evening is a proud one. This will be the night we reclaim our legacy, our destiny, and a gift that was given to us and stolen away." He grinned toothily over the crowd, as men whooped and cheered, and Harley heard the speakers pop and hiss as Jo found an outlet and plugged the extension cord in. He hustled back closer and dove down to his knees in front of the speakers, and Harley saw him dig an auxiliary cord out from in his jacket. Jenning, clearly glorying in the sound of his own voice, was still speaking from the platform. "It's time we all put aside our differences, and unite our families as one. G. Maoh brought us together before. We finally had a leader we could call ours! We were going to have power with a hero of our own, and what did they do to him?"

This got a roar of answers, but Harley jumped when the speakers hissed again beside him. He whipped around to Jo, who had plugged his phone into the stereo. He patted Harley's shoulder, then fidgeted with his phone for a moment. Genie Maoh had stepped forward.

"Our part in this is simple. All I ask of you is that you cause as much mayhem as possible. Working as one, we have the strength of a dragon. The Holy Men will break G. Maoh loose, and with this, our union will be soon complete. Then, the work of taking over this city will begin." She grinned madly. "Take what is rightfully yours! Spread across the city! Take it to rubble if you have to, and kill anyone who gets in your way! Show them our strength as one!"

Jo broke Harley's focus with a tap on the forearm. He held the phone out and whispered, "When the lights go out, hit play and crank the volume slowly." Jo squinted out at the crowd, all shouting, a mass of dark clothes and anger. Their rage sparked off of one another's like charcoal and kindling, the fires of injustice stoking and building. His vision blurred a little, but he shook it back and turned back to Harley. "If it looks safe enough, try to follow my lead. If you get scared—or if you don't think you can handle it—or anything, just stay here, call the police, and stay far away." He planted a hand over Harley's where he braced the ground and gave it a squeeze. "Get out if you can, yeah? Someone's gonna need to explain this all to the Father." He then released Harley's hand and fished back into the Home Depot bag, this time taking out a set of wire cutters. "I'm going out there."

Harley squeezed Jo's hand as he tried to get up. "Jo, what are you going to do?"

"Hey." Jo leaned close and squeezed Harley's hand right back, because the recognition was clear in his eyes now. "I got a plan. Remember what I told you about why guys join up?" Harley frowned, and Jo nodded a few times, a confident smirk taking place. "They feel weak, and want to be strong. They get into groups to feel strong. If we break 'em up, what're they gonna be?"

"That sounds reasonable, but how?"

"You'll see. No time to explain, I think they're finally getting sick of their own voices." Jo released Harley's hand and clambered his way up the retaining wall. Harley watched him creep along through the shadows, and with all eyes on Jenning and Genie, nobody noticed him coming up and behind the industrial floodlights.

Jo quickly found the main power line – it was the big one, so no shit – and started hacking away at the outsides with his wire cutters. The cord was a little thicker than what the cutters were designed for, but damn if that'd stop him now. He just kept his hand on the rubber handles, because electrocution would be a shitty way to end his covert mission. Jenning and Genie were still talking, but Jo could hear chatter from a crowd of guys standing in the shadow of the floodlight:

"Hey, where's that little red-head shit you said was coming?"

"Who fuckin' knows?" Jo's ears burned, because that was Benny. He tipped his eyes around the support beams to the men loitering below, and recognized a few of the men who'd been around for Shalimar's beating, and didn't recognize the rest. Benny was hanging near the wall, not ten feet away from Jo, a cigarette between his lips and a smirk playing across them. "Stupid bastard probably got his dumb ass arrested trying to get here."

"Well, shit, how're we gonna pin shit on him if he ain't here?" The guy Benny was talking to guffawed, and Jo's stomach turned. He didn't pause in carving away at the cord, but watched Benny's mouth as he grinned and answered:

"We lie, moron. Shit, if he's already been arrested, that just means we're damn sure there's someone to pin shit on if any of us gets caught. Worked before. I would'a gotten twenty on that hotel bomb job if I hadn't said the kid was the one who made the charges." Benny spit, and Jo wished he could spit in Benny's hair. "It's just a fucking pisser someone ratted me out for a Crow, and I still got fifteen."

Jo had never wished more that he'd opened his mouth a lot wider back when he'd gotten arrested. It was high time he made up for that little error in judgment.

Jo snipped through the power cord, the lights all went out at once, and he heard Harley do his part. The distant sound of sirens could be heard, and Jo could almost see Harley gradually turning up the volume. A titter ran across the crowd, as the sirens seemed to come closer and closer, and Jo jumped down into the crowds.

He'd put a few things together. One from Gage and his favorite big black bat: that criminals were a superstitious, cowardly lot. From Benny, that they only felt strong in a group. From Steele, he'd learned the power of a single voice, and from every yank of his hair, every slap across the face, each pinch, each scream in his ear and slam on the door of the closet he hid in, that his voice caused trouble. Now would be a good time to cause some trouble.

He planted himself near the center of the crowd, as guys muttered and whispered to one another, and raised a shout: "WHO THE FUCK CALLED THE COPS?!"

"It's nowhere near us," Jenning countered from the platform, but he could hardly be heard over the chaos. The noise from the crowd was starting to drown him out, the sirens louder and louder. Jo, however, was on the move, and got close to the front of the crowd and as far from Benny as he could be before shouting again.

"FUCKING CROWS RATTED US OUT!"

There was an angry shiver through the entire crowd, and just as Jo expected, someone else screamed back, "FUCK OFF, BULL!"

"GET BACK TO YOUR TURF!"

"YOU ASSHOLES WANTED THE FUCKING GLORY!"

Jo snickered to himself and moved again, but as guys started to turn on each other and weapons were being raised, he was starting to shove. He saw a fin marking and entrenched himself, and whispered to the man nearest him, "Bet the Cents just wanted to see us all go down like they did."

The gangster next to him scoffed and responded a little louder. "Those sick fucks probably like jail." It started to spread through the Sharks, as they started raising their voices in a jumble, threats among them:

"Sick bastards!"

"Kill 'em and leave the bodies for the cops, that'll keep 'em busy!"

One of the few Cents snarled back, "Fuck you, you're just here for the money!"

The chaos kept spreading, and accusations flew over Jo's head as he made for the back of the pack, sowing doubt in whispers and shouts:

"Why are we working together anyway?!"

"Being forced together is why our folks left Shangri-La!"

"We can run our own Empire without this stupid bullshit! Fuck those guys!"

The growling was drowning out Genie Maoh and Neil Jenning's voices as they implored calm from above. All Jo could hear was:

"WE SHOULD'A KILLED YOU LAST WEEK!"

"YOU JUST WANTED TO GET ON OUR STREETS!"

"FUCKING SNITCH!"

Jo got to the back of the pack and raised his voice one more time: "WHY THE FUCK ARE WE WORKING TOGETHER ANYWAY?!" And with one last burst of inspiration from Steele, he drew the pistol, flipped off the safety, and fired two shots at the sky.

Pandemonium erupted. Half of everyone gathered made to flee, running for the fences or clambering up the walls, and half of everyone else dove for each other, pistols and guns out, knives flashing in what little light was left. Jo made for the warehouse where he'd last seen Harley, already hissing, "Harl, we gotta get out of here!"

But the stereo was there and Harley was not. Jo spun back to the fray, and he saw Harley's shadow moving outside the fence and, without a second thought, bolted back into the madness.

He could see where guys had gotten disarmed and started fist fights, and moved for them. Getting caught in a brawl was better than bullets any day. He could still hear bullets flying, screaming and shouting in English and jumbled Mandarin and other things he couldn't understand. He forced his way through slugs and flying fists. Someone seized his jacket, but he twisted away, stumbling as the lining ripped. He caught himself on his hands in the gravel, but lifted his face and gazed around. "Harley! Hey! Harley!" He tried to get to his feet, but when he raised his head again, there was a hand extended, and Jo found Benny staring him down, wearing a death's-head grin with a cold gleam in his eyes.

"Replaced me that fast, Jojo?" He seized Jo's wrist. "And here I was hoping I'd have a chance to talk to you."

* * *

Genie bolted down the platform stairs, fleeing from the madness that had erupted in the crowd with her iPad under her arm. Jenning was a few steps behind her, and she could hear him laughing. Laughing, the bastard! She spun on her heel as she reached the sidewalk and grabbed onto his arm, then dug her fingernails in. In the dark, she could still see him smirking, utterly gleeful despite the brawl behind them, and the rage boiled over in her. She gave him a shake and hissed as if she could rattle him, "What is the matter with you?! What is so funny?!"

"This. This entire mess. It's hilarious, my dear." He turned her grip on him into a hold on her, wrenching his arm around to catch her elbow and slinging his arm around her shoulder. She felt her fingernails tear his flesh, but from his unblinking grin, he hadn't felt it. "Imagine, we do all this work and preparation, bringing the worst example of our culture into one place, giving them all the tools they need and the right motivation—money, power, infamy—and one noise, one simple, stupid noise sends it all to pieces!"

"Idiot!" She pushed him off, and he merely laughed, but when she kicked him in the shin to silence him, someone else was still laughing. Both turned, to see a slender shadow standing between them and the narrow path to the gate out, applauding.

"It is funny, isn't it?" Harley left his hands clasped, donning a mask of a smile pretending real amusement that didn't fool either of them. "That a simple, gentle man with a cell phone and a set of stereo speakers could convince about one thousand men, by my estimate, that their cause was no longer worthwhile."

"I know you," Jenning said, wonder in his voice and the crook of his smile, and he pushed Genie back. She tottered and stumbled on her heels, but took the next step back herself, eyes wide like Janet Leigh's in Psycho, and fixed on Harley's empty hands in front of him. "Greg Cho, aren't you?"

"I prefer Gregory." Harley cocked his head back, his cracked glasses and crescent-wide grin catching the light. "I'm afraid we were never properly introduced, Ms. Maoh." He bowed at the waist, holding a chuckle in his throat.

"Y-you." She tried to draw herself up, and Harley snapped his heels together and dropped his arms to his sides, then flexed his fingers next to his pockets.

"Defender of justice, me." He giggled again, his mad grin not flinching for a second. "You know what I did last time I ended up in the middle of a gang raid, don't you?"

"Oh, that's not what happened." Jenning chuckled, but shifted to keep Genie squarely behind him. "You lost it when they hurt someone you cared about. You're here for another reason." He started to sidestep, clearly moving to edge around Harley, but rather than mirror his motions, Harley stepped directly in front of him. "What's brought you here, Gregory?"

"I came with the gentleman I mentioned before. The simple, gentle man who called the police on you. I have a feeling you may have met him, but by the grace of God, I hope he never has the misfortune to come across you again."

Jenning's eyes sparked with realization. "Oh. Was it him? I see he made his choice!" Jenning laughed sharply, then grinned at Harley. "And what about you? What is it you were hoping to gain from this? Because I assure you, whatever it is, I can offer you better." Jenning put his hands on his hips. "You're not fooling me. I can tell you're not nearly as insane as you're pretending to be for the benefit of the lady. You're not here for vengeance anymore, because your friend's already run for the hills like every other coward on the pitch, alive and well. So why are you confronting me? You've likely figured out that this was merely an experiment." Genie Maoh gasped behind him, but Jenning held a hand up to silence her. "But we can have more test runs. I don't think I'm done, and if you're willing to work with me, you stand to gain much."

"Do I?" Harley's focus hadn't broken, but Genie Maoh saw his gaze snap to her when she tried to move around Jenning towards the parking lot. "I suppose you have more plans for changing the world? Are they all so sinister?"

"I have a few things in the works. I admit, you and your friends have jammed up a few of them, but I always have more. If this lovely lady will allow," Jenning paused to slide a roguish grin towards Genie, "I think we still may be able to accomplish what we set out to do tonight. After all, I have a scary psycho killer standing in front of me, and I could have more men here in an instant. If you're willing to turn your considerable talents to my aid-"

"And why would I do that?"

"Vengeance, as always." Jenning's eyes glinted. "Don't you know the best way to beat them is to join them? Change comes from within, you know." He paced to the side again, but Harley matched him, putting the two within touching distance. Jenning kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders back, making eye contact but still watching Harley. "You know what led to your... situation. You know what created the gangs. They're a side effect of the toxic system in which we live. Without a good leader, criminals are like mad dogs, but under a strong king, they could be made an army anew. With the dregs of the city well-organized and on a leash they respect, self-policing and contained, I sincerely doubt there will be another Katherine Cho anytime soon. Add to that, if you came to our leader's aid and were among the first at his feet, you would live in safety, comfort, and security for the rest of your natural life. So, Mr. Cho." Jenning extended his hand. "Take back this city. You know what you stand to gain."

"Ah." Harley shrugged his shoulders back, tucked his hands into his back pockets, and couldn't stop his smile from spreading so wide it was unnerving. "Power, comfort, a life without worry? You think so little of me." Without flinching, he whipped his right hand from his back pocket, revealing a set of ziptie handcuffs that he'd stolen off of a hospital guard and kept, and slapped one side around Jenning's extended wrist. Jenning jerked his hand back without thinking, inadvertently tightening the tie, and Harley stepped in and yanked Jenning through and past him. "You see, you are under the fallacy that I sincerely believe that this city is mine in any sense!" Genie squeaked and stumbled back as Harley pulled Jenning up by the arm. "Nor is it yours." He held him at arm's length, as Jenning's cool finally broke into a glower. "It was given to the refugees of Shangri-La, not just the wealthy, not just the intelligent, certainly not just criminals and madmen, but to all of us, and change must come from all, not one." He yanked Jenning close and grabbed him by the hair. "It already belongs to you. You can't take it back."

Jenning twisted his wrist out of Harley's grip, but Harley seized Jenning by the elbow and pinched. "Ah, my, my, that does hurt, doesn't it?" Jenning didn't answer, discovering that his shoulder was locked, but stepped back in an attempt to jerk himself free. Harley staggered a step forward, but as Jenning clenched his free fist and brought it down towards Harley's head like a hammer, Harley ducked down and under the gap between Jenning's arm and knee. He grabbed the hem of Jenning's jacket and yanked it. Jenning twisted around, two fingers extended towards Harley's eyes, but Harley grabbed his wrist. "You will find me a more imposing opponent than an unprepared priest. I saw what you did to Shalimar. The condition in which he was delivered to the hospital." He pinched Jenning's wrist, and Jenning yelped. Genie shrieked and stumbled back, too terrified not to look and nowhere near brave enough to intervene. Harley, neutrally, continued to analyze, "You knew where to strike his pressure points to disorient him and lock his joints before applying brute force. Clever. But I'm a tinkerer, you see." Jenning twisted his arm to try to break Harley loose, but Harley drove two fingers down into the gap in Jenning's collarbone, forcing him to a kneel. "I'm going to enjoy taking you apart."

Harley twisted Jenning's wrist, and Jenning gasped as his shoulder dislocated, but Harley didn't give Jenning even a second to recover. He swung his knee into Jenning's chin, then stepped around and put his foot into and through Jenning's back, pushing him to the ground. He dove down and finished by snapping the other end of the ziptie around Jenning's loose arm, then pulled it tight. Jenning struggled, but Harley kicked him in the ribs. "I wouldn't suggest moving." He turned towards Genie. "And the same goes for you, ma'am."

Genie sputtered, desperately flicking her gaze between a groaning but still Jenning and Harley, the flickering lights catching the terror clear in her eyes and struck through her whole face, as Harley hauled Jenning up like a sandbag. She remained frozen as if she was a rabbit in his highbeams, then jerked into motion and bolted for the gate. Harley flung Jenning at her, and she tripped as he tumbled to a heap on the ground on top of her, her iPad flying from her hands and her acrylics cracking as she tried and failed to catch herself. Before she could try to recompose herself and totter back to her feet, he was on her again, but rather than shredding for her throat, he ripped the scarf out of her hair, then knelt, pressing his knee into her back and weighing her down against Jenning, and wound the silk too tight around her wrist. She tried to squirm out, but he dug his elbow in on her side just where her ribcage ended, and as she whined and writhed in pain, he wrenched her arm up through Jenning's bound wrists and bound her hands together twined with his arms.

"That hurts!" She tried to kick at Harley, but he gamely dodged her flailing heel.

"So do bullets, but you don't hear Zack complaining. And speaking of whom, that reminds me..." He sighed with mock-sorrow and stepped over her, then scooped up her black-screened iPad. "My, my, what have we here?"

Genie gasped as he looked her tablet over, then removed the back. "A pity, I remember the handcuffs but forget my tools." He pulled his glasses off, removed the rubber from the leg, and turned the iPad towards the light from the street. He nodded, then touched the metal end of his glasses to one of the circuits. "How fortunate these products are rather durable." The screen flickered back to life. Harley turned back and planted his narrow backside on Genie's spine, ignoring her shrieking protests and Jenning's grunt as his and Genie's weight settled onto him, but Harley merely kicked his legs out as if he were in an office chair. He frowned at the password screen for a moment, then typed in a few lines to open a command screen and the task manager. In minutes, he had her program open again, and he couldn't help but laugh as he tapped through the program. "Oh, Zack. No wonder you were tearing your hair out, this was quite an undertaking." He waved the pad down towards Genie. "Is this why you got him killed?" She squeaked again, but clammed her jaw shut tight. "What a shame he doesn't get to enjoy the benefits of his work, and really, how sad that nobody else will ever know what he accomplished. Fortunately for my former supervisor's memory, I can change some of that." He typed in one last command, locking the iPad in an open state. "I'm sure the Chance Harbor Police Department will admire this just as much as I do."

He cleaned the screen, then set the tablet down next to her, stacking it against their bodies. "I do hope you're not too uncomfortable. If you'll excuse me, I need to make certain a kinder, gentler man has survived his own gauntlet." He dusted his hands on his thighs and strolled back towards the dregs of the fight.

Behind him, cast in the dark of a moonless night and with his failures crushing him in the most literal sense possible, Jenning started to laugh.

* * *

Benny pulled Jo to his feet, wrenching his arm as he did, then threw him back. Jo caught his footing, but found himself in the center of Benny and a few other goons. The lot was clearing, and Jo could hear real sirens coming closer over the ones playing on his stereo behind him. Jo threw his gaze around the field desperately, but in the light there still was, he couldn't see Harley, and as the other Holy Men or watchmen or whatever they were closed rank around him, he couldn't see a way out, either. Fine by him. Jo rubbed his sore shoulder, then threw a smirk at Benny.

"What's up, bro? I told you I'd be here."

"What the fuck are you doing? Did you call the goddamn cops?"

"Why the fuck would I do that?" Jo held his hands up. "Look, man, I heard one of my buddies was showing up, and I knew I had to be here."

"What, your fuckin' fag _roommate_?" Benny nodded to the other gangsters surrounding Jo, grinning around and trying to collect smirks and chuckled agreement. "This dumbfuck was living with this prissy little fag before I got out, pretending he was a clean-living good-boy, but he turned so fast the second I came back. I thought you grew a pair, Jojo."

Jo clenched his jaw and fists, but set his shoulders back and forced a smirk. "Yeah, I did. Why do you think I'm done with you?"

"You son of a bitch." Benny spit on Jo's chest. His grin had been wiped away in a second. "I stuck my neck out for you. I didn't have to help your ass."

Jo's steel was staring to form a furnace, and heat was starting to blaze in his chest. "Bullshit. You wanted me back in so you had an easy scapegoat. Point at the idiot who knows the least, and watch me take the fall. You might as well push me into the bay, 'cause you know I can't swim."

Benny didn't even bother firing back at Jo, instead throwing his hands out and advancing on Jo. "Think of how fucking good we could'a had it if this had worked, Jojo! Don't you want what's ours? This city was supposed to be ours! Everything in it, the money, the power, the ability to control our lives without getting pushed around-"

Jo finally knew how to see through Benny's big talk, because he had Harley's smart mouth running through the back of his mind, and he dug his heels in to keep Benny from stepping him back any further. "When the people who came from Shangri-La got here, they didn't give us money, or power. They gave us a chance. A chance you're fucking up! You seriously think breaking the law's gonna get you anywhere good?!" Jo felt the gun swing against his chest, and he took a bold step back towards Benny. "Shit, I know it ain't easy to make it, I've been livin' that since I got out! But shit, I got a chance, and even if I gotta fight every step, I'm gonna keep trying!"

"You wouldn't have had to try, stupid!" Benny's face was too close, eyes wild as he ranted. "You'd never have to drag your ass like some slob another day in your life! You really wanted to be a fucking delivery boy 'til you dropped dead?"

"Hell no, but it was better than a life where I had to break the backs of every sorry fucker I would'a had to step over." Jo wasn't brooking argument now, and maybe for the first time, he realized that not every crazy line of argument out of Benny's mouth was a philosophical gem. "A life I didn't have to work for. I'd be so bored I'd just shrivel up and die. Fuck that shit, I can do better."

Benny wrinkled his whole face and sneered in disgust. "This is all 'cause of your nancy fag friend, isn't it?"

Jo's face fell, and he slid his eyes around. The circle of assholes was drawing tight around him, and he had no escape. He sighed, thought of Harley, and smiled. "So what if he's a fag? If I can live my life with him, whatever sorta life that is, if I gotta work my knuckles to the bone or sell my body to keep him with me and happy, then that's the life I'll live." Jo held his head high and put a brave grin on. "I joined up with you because I didn't wanna be alone anymore. And now I'm not."

Benny sneered, and seized Jo by the front of his shirt. "Fuck you, shithead." He was out of big words, but before Jo could react, he threw a fist at Jo's face. Jo jerked back, but recovered and swung for Benny's jaw. Benny staggered back, but in a second, all of the rest of the watchmen were on him. They grabbed at his jacket and tugged at his arms, and Jo got his hand into his jacket and pulled the pistol. Someone landed a punch to the back of his head, but he got steady enough long enough to wrench his arms forward to hold the grip in both hands, and fired a shot into the ground right at his feet. He heard the pop of the pistol like a sonic boom, heard the bullet hit the concrete and bounce, but had no idea where it landed. Most of the gangsters cut and ran, clearing away from Jo, and he steadied himself just as Benny seized him again and raised his knee into his gut.

It was a square, clean hit. Jo choked and dropped the pistol, and tried to muster up the will to think like Gage had to when he was frenzied. Where could he hurt him the most? Where could he reach? He tried to lift his leg into Benny's groin, but Benny had already wound up another punch and knocked him to the ground. Jo found himself staring into the black center of the sky, and then at Benny glaring down at him, teeth bared, chest heaving with each angry inhale. Benny stomped down into Jo's ribcage, then pinned him into the ground with his knee on his chest, and he laid into Jo, both fists swinging. "You stupid, stupid, stupid idiot! We could'a had everything! You threw it all away! You ruined everything!"

The longer Jo listened to him, the more he sounded like a petulant child. He faintly wondered how old Benny had been when his mother had lost their home. He wondered if he should pity Benny. Maybe if Benny weren't driving bruises into his shoulders and chest, he would have. Instead, Jo just muttered, "You ruined it for yourself."

Benny screamed. That probably hurt him, but Jo was starting to feel sick and dizzy from the blows to his head and couldn't even get any satisfaction out of what little harm he'd done back. He faintly realized he could still have grabbed the gun and put it to Benny's head and pulled the trigger, but despite everything, he just didn't have it in him to kill a man. His skull bounced on the pavement, and he closed his eyes, waiting for Benny to spot the gun at his side and do what he couldn't, and crossed his fingers that Harley was far away and gone by now. With any luck, Harley would get his head back on straight and forget about him. Yeah, that's probably just how that would go.

"Ah, here you are."

He loved being wrong.

Benny had stopped hitting him. Jo was struggling to breathe, his ribs aching, his throat burning, and he couldn't even open his eyes. Benny was swearing incoherently at Harley, but there was a strange crunch, and Benny went silent all at once. Then, Jo felt a cool touch on his cheeks, then a gentle weight over his chest, and finally two smooth fingers at the pulse point on his neck. Harley's mouth closed over his, and Jo felt air cross his lips. He coughed when Harley pulled back, and opened his eyes. Harley was still close, kneeling next to him, and he smiled as Jo sat up. Pain stung through Jo's chest and neck, but he forced himself upright.

"Was... that CPR?"

"Your heart hadn't stopped."

Jo knew that wasn't a no, but smirked and clapped a hand on Harley's shoulder anyway. "You sure?" Harley chuckled, but as Jo tried to get himself to a stand, Harley rose and helped him.

"Come here, you're hurt." The sirens were louder by the second, and Harley got Jo's arm over his shoulder. "We need to leave now."

Jo hung at Harley's side, staggering along and still struggling to breathe. He tried to get a look at what Harley had done to Benny, but he could only see that Benny was crumpled in a heap and not moving, and he tried to pretend he wasn't thinking about it. Harley stopped only to pick up the pistol and tuck it into Jo's jacket, then carried him back to the bike. Harley set Jo against the side of the building and gathered up the extension cords, put the stereo back into the bike basket, and propped Jo against the bike. "Walk carefully. If we need to stop, please say so, but I'm going to make sure we make it back alright."

Harley walked tall with Jo limping on one side of the bike, and Jo felt his legs threatening to give out. Harley seemed to notice, and quietly said, "If you'd like, I could try to walk the bike with you on it."

"Uh-uh." Jo tried and failed to straighten his back, but wrenched his face into a cocky grin. "How'd you get so strong all of a sudden?"

Harley granted him a gracious smile, and reached over to the other handlebar to put his hand over Jo's. "If it's for you, I can and will do anything. Kill, steal, face God, anything."

The police cars passed them when they were halfway back to the mission. Jo crossed his fingers that he'd done enough for the night, not even caring whether or not he ever found out if justice was served. He'd given it everything he had, and by God, he hoped that was enough.


	34. Jukebox Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Harley have an argument over the radio.

The mission door was flung open as Harley and Jo came up to the side steps, and Steele ushered them in. "Christ Almighty," Steele growled, and took the stereo off of the bike and stuffed it into a closet. "You look a wreck."

"I feel worse." Jo let go of the bike, and Harley caught it and wheeled it inside. Jo hobbled into the sanctuary, to find Gage in front of the television but spun around in his seat to gawp at them. He heard some of what the newscaster was saying:

"Hundreds of arrests are being made across Chance Harbor, after the discovery of several dead bodies at an abandoned factory, as well as the arrest of an attorney well-known for her work defending alleged gang members. Young men and some women have been having shootouts and fistfights in the streets, all tying back to a single, consistent element in their stories of a gang meeting that went poorly..."

Steele caught Jo's shoulder and pulled him around. "Good God, what the fuck did you do?" Jo realized Steele was taller than him... or he was just hunched over that much. He faintly realized he was having trouble breathing, and he was dizzy and exhausted. Steele just grunted and dragged him from the door. "Gage, shut that shit off and get over here." Gage turned the TV off and hopped up to his feet, as Steele hauled Jo to one of the benches and wrenched him to a sit. "You, don't move. You're plastered, you've been drinking for a few hours." For emphasis, Steele pulled his flask from his cassock, poured some of the contents onto Jo's shirt, then held it to his mouth. "Drink."

"I don't—" Steele poured some of the alcohol onto his lips when he opened his mouth, then put the flask away and motioned to Gage. Jo sputtered and coughed even as Steele barked demands at Gage over him.

"We've been playing poker. Where are the damned chips? I need a big stack, I've been wiping the floor with you all night."

"No way," Jo found himself muttering, and shook his head. "Harl wins all the time, he's the best." Steele scoffed, but when Gage arrived back with a stack of paper coasters, he put a large stack at his and Steele's place and smaller stacks by Jo and Gage. Harley returned from putting the bike in the closet with a bowl of pretzels and half-filled glasses of water and juice, as well as a bottle of beer. Steele opened the beer and took a long swig out of it, then handed it to Jo. Jo shoved it away, shaking his head, because a drink sounded like a terrible idea right about now. He didn't feel like he could hold himself up, and let himself slump over the table. "Let me sleep. Please just let me sleep."

"Sit up. Try to look normal." Steele grabbed the back of Jo's shirt and forced him to straighten up. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck did they do to you?"

Jo didn't answer and tried hard to slouch out of Steele's grip, but started when he felt cardstock under his hands. Gage had slid cards under his palm, and when he shifted his eyes around the table, he realized that Harley and Gage had quickly set up what looked like the tail end of a party. Harley took his seat and looked at the cards dealt for him. "Not my usual luck," he remarked, the nudged Jo's hand. "What do you have?"

Confused, his mind muddled, Jo flipped his cards without really looking at them, then shook his head. Queens and Jacks stared back at him, angry and accusing. "I... I can't..." A pang of pain rushed through his gut. "I'm really hurting, can I just have a Tylenol or something and-"

"Shut up," Steele growled in his ear. "We'll deal with it later. Look alive. Better yet, look drunk." Jo groaned again, and Harley reached over the table and touched his hand.

"Just for a few minutes," he whispered, and Jo just raised an eyebrow at him. He was about to ask what the fuck was going on, until there was a knock on the door. Gage landed in his seat and lifted his cards, and Steele stormed over to the door and flung it open.

"Officers." The cold in his tone bit through the whole room, and Jo tried to wrench his neck around to look. Sure enough, if he squinted into the vestibule, there were two police officers at the door. "It's a bit late, and I didn't call you."

"Sorry to make an unexpected visit, Father. You might have heard, but there's been some trouble in the quarter, and we got a report of two suspicious characters passing through this area." Jo grimaced, because he could damn near feel them bearing down on him from across the room. "In addition, we're all rather aware of your association with a known ex-con, and due to tonight's events, we-"

"Joel. You're talking about Joel, right? He's been here for the past few hours." Steele stepped aside and pointed. Gage sat up and waved to the two officers. "What, are you really going around looking for any ex-con in the city? The moron showed up here a while ago with a six-pack, and since it didn't seem like a good idea to go anywhere, we've been playing poker."

One of the officers sighed. "Sir, I don't want to contradict you, but there's been a report that he was involved with the commission of a crime tonight. Someone we've arrested named him specifically." Jo's stomach sank through to his feet, but and Gage hopped up to his feet and tottered over to join Steele.

"They've both been here a while. You've probably got the wrong guys." Gage crossed his arms. "Or maybe they messed up. Either way, Jo's been with Harl. He's too drunk to go anywhere, either. Seriously, the whole room stinks 'cause of him." Gage waved a hand in front of his nose, and the officer grimaced and tried to scrutinize Jo over Gage's shoulder. Jo tried to think drunk, think _drunk_ , and groped around for something, anything to drink. Harley pushed his glass of water to his hand, as Gage shifted to block the officer's view. "Whoever you arrested is prob'ly lying. Why would Dad lie?"

"Even if I weren't vouching for him," Steele added, and nudged Gage back. "I know Joel, and he's on the straight and narrow. Are you really going to take the word of a criminal you picked up over that of a priest?" Jo did everything he could to stay upright, fidgeting with the cards under his hands. Harley rubbed Jo's hand, and Jo noticed him mouthing something:

_'It's alright, it's alright.'_ Then, to Jo's surprise, Harley started to hum a familiar song, then mouthed along with the words: _"Let it go, this too shall pass..."_ Jo barely even realized he was mumbling in tune with him, focused on the movement of Harley's lips.

The officer was checking something on his phone. "I've also got a note here that he's missed a parole meeting, but his parole officer hasn't put a warrant out for him yet."

"He's been helping take care of me." Gage tugged his shirt aside, showing off the bandages that still wrapped down around his chest and belly. "I'm finally startin' to get better though!"

"He'll make the next meeting." Steele glowered over his shoulder for effect. "Jo, you gotta call your parole officer in the morning."

Harley stopped humming so that Jo could answer. Jo swallowed, but muttered a noncommittal answer and slumped forward. He was so tired, so goddamned tired.

"The idiot's plastered. I'll deal with him. Is that everything?" Jo didn't hear their response, but he heard Steele. "Be safe out there, officers," Steele said, and closed the door. Jo heard the deadbolt click, the the crisp clack of Steele's shoes as he hurried back towards Jo. "Where did they hurt him?"

In an instant, Harley was picking Jo up under the arms. "A former associate of his had him pinned down by the gut and struck his head and chest. Joel, with your permission, I'm going to remove your shirt."

"Whatever you want, babe," Jo muttered, and let his head drop. He realized Harley and Steele were pushing him into Steele's office, and he landed on Steele's mattress. The quilt was soft and downy, and his vision went blurry as all the liquid in his head settled in the back of his skull. Being horizontal felt kind of nice. Harley worked his shirt off over his head, and whimpered. Steele clicked his tongue.

"Those are some good bruises. Deep." Steele pressed his hands across Jo's ribcage. "I don't feel any breaks here." He pressed in a few spots on Jo's stomach, pushing his thumb in for a few seconds, then releasing slowly. "Let me know if any of these hurt."

Jo waited, wincing at each push, and while his gut was sore, none of the touches hurt more than the other. "Uh-uh. Uh, my head..."

"Have you passed out at all?" Harley moved to where Jo could see him, seated on the edge of the bed with his hip flush to Jo's side, and Jo shook his head. "Yes, and you're speaking normally. Your pupils look normal, too. It's likely just a concussion. Not that a concussion isn't still serious, but- oh, you poor thing..." Harley rubbed his hand down Jo's cheek and chin, as Steele backed away to the door. "A good night's sleep will do you wonders. Hopefully you'll be right as rainbows by morning. Everything is going to be alright, yes?"

Jo couldn't help but smile, because Harley was sounding more like himself by the sentence. "I think so." He closed his eyes, then slung an arm up and around Harley's shoulders. "If I sleep now-"

"You can sleep now, Joel. Of course you can, and I'm so sorry I made you wait. I just had to make sure you were sleeping, not passing out." Harley pulled the pillow under his head, but Jo shook his head.

"If I do, you'll be here in the morning, won'cha?" He tried to pull himself up and into Harley's chest, but Harley instead met him in the middle and urged him back down.

"Of course I will. I'm not going to leave you. You'd have to force me." He unwrapped Jo's arm and hand from his shoulder, but Jo's face had relaxed into a dreamlike smile. He was fast asleep, clearly secure in the knowledge that everything was going to be alright, at least for now.

* * *

Harley woke with a snap, though unsure as to what had startled him. His heart was racing as if he'd run a mile in a minute, and it came to him that he was waking from a nightmare he couldn't remember. If he squeezed his eyes shut, he'd surely only see the creeping sequence of centipedes in motion across the blood-red of his eyelids. It hit him – his medicine, he needed his medicine, he needed it right now. He found his pants folded beside the bunk he had slept in and found all three bottles in his pockets, and swallowed the pills dry. Then, he sought out his glasses – left on the table nearest his bunk – and pulled some clean clothes from his suitcase on the bench. Steele and Gage were seated at the table nearest the kitchen with bowls of cereal, and he pulled his pants and undershirt on before waving to them.

"Er, do either of you know what happened last night?"

"What, don't you remember?" Steele sneered, and Harley could only laugh.

"I... I think I remember something, but I'm not sure if it's real." He ran his hand back through his hair, squinting around the room of morning sunlight, and let his back rest against the bedpost. "Did I... possibly... throw someone at someone else, physically assault a woman, then... oh dear me, it must be real." He clapped his hand over his mouth. "I don't think even I could dream up what I'm certain I did to Jo's former friend."

Gage, jaw agape, tilted his head at Harley. "Didja... you know..."

"Kill him?" Harley shivered, then looked at his own hands. "No, I don't believe I did, but I'm certain he's wishing I had." He managed a wry smile. Gage chuckled into his cereal bowl, and Steele rolled his eyes.

"Whatever it was you did, he deserved it." Steele pushed a glass of orange juice to the spot next to his, and Harley gratefully joined them and took a long swig. Steele apprised him with a swipe of his gaze. "How are you feeling?"

Harley swallowed thickly, and took a moment's thought to self-assess. "I'm... I'm not actively hallucinating. That's a plus. I don't feel right, but I feel..." He struggled, still searching for words that could adequately describe the calming tempest in his head. "I feel like I'm coming back down from a high, and finally starting to feel the earth beneath my feet again." Steele nodded understanding, as Harley remembered something else and looked around the room. "Joel. Where is-"

Gage piped up before Steele could: "He got up like an hour ago, ate a piece of toast, and then he went out back to smoke."

Harley felt the blood drain from his face. "He's been outside an hour? How did he look?"

"He said he felt fine." Gage shrugged. "I dunno if I believe him, but he said so." He glanced to Steele, who scoffed but nodded his head, then grinned back at Harley. "You should go talk to him."

"You're quite right. Please excuse me." Harley put the emptied orange juice glass down and hurried for the back of the sanctuary, towards the door to the side alley. He heard Steele just on the edge of his perception:

"He can make advanced technology roll over and beg, but one cracked-brain idiot eludes him."

Embarrassing, but true. Jo had surprised him, and that was even when he was at a point where was seeing things that simply weren't there. He couldn't even know now if he'd seen the breadth of his bravery. Harley had been so wonderfully, comfortably familiar with the too-kind man who talked tough but whose hands were gentle. He wondered if perhaps, pushing him as he had changed the bond between them as much as it had changed Jo himself. If nothing else, the time had come to have a very serious conversation with him. If he was lucky, perhaps he could ease their relationship back to the way it had been and live with his dear friend in contentment, if Jo was willing to forgive him. He flung the door wide, only to find the same concrete walls that were always there, the scraps of trash left by the dumpster, the streaked graffiti that ran down the wall, and, to his relief, the fresh scent of an extinguished cigarette. "Joel?"

There was a sigh from behind the door, then a mechanical click, and Harley heard music. He left the mission door shut behind him, just as he heard Jo's voice, in slow, almost regretful song:

" _The waiting drove me mad!_ " Harley turned and saw Jo seated on an empty crate, his boombox beside him, a pile of cigarette butts at his feet, but he swaggered to a stand, held his hands out, and belted the next line, " _You're finally here and I'm a mess._ " He seemed to run out of air all at once as Harley stared at him, and grinned helplessly, before speaking over the music. "Uh, hey. How ya feelin'?"

"Better all the time," Harley replied without thinking, a curious frown creasing his face and muting his voice. "Joel, what are..."

"It's, uh, Pearl Jam. I told ya I had the biggest collection in town, yeah?" Jo gestured to the speaker set. "I found this record secondhand, and converted it to mp3 so I could listen to it all the time. This is a rare live recording of the acoustic version of Corduroy, back from a 1996 show in Toronto. They never played it slow like this again. It always hits me, right here, y'know?" He thumped a hand over his heart, then shuffled forward, hobbling just enough to make Harley want to catch him, but he remained upright and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. "Uh, and before. You said you liked my voice. I didn't know what to do or think when you said that, 'cause my whole life, people've been telling me to shut up."

"Oh, Joel." Harley wasn't sure what to say, because this was not how he expected this conversation to go, but he didn't have to; Jo spoke up again too quickly.

"You've never told me to shut up, y'know. Never told me to be quiet, or ignored me because I was talking too much, even when you were in an off mood and I was probably annoying you, and that just, y'know, it made me feel like a person. And I don't remember ever feeling like a person 'til I met you." Jo ran his fingers back through his hair, pushing it from his eyes, but couldn't lift his face from Harley's shoes. "That was more than three years ago."

"You remember?" Harley tried to keep mingled hope and surprise from his voice, but he couldn't tell if he'd succeeded.

"I remember." Jo wrought his face into a weary smile. "And I'm sorry for forgetting."

"Oh, Jo, it's okay."

"It's not." Jo shook his head, and his smile crumbled away like loose mortar. "I think blocking it out was the only way I could cope, though. It sucked, losing you. Up until I found you again, I was just going through the motions, and when I... when we... I..." Jo visibly struggled for words, his expression shuddering between bereft and bewildered,, but he broke through, saying, "I almost lost you again, I couldn't go back to that. You actually talked to me. You laughed at my jokes, and you were funny right back. You took care of my stupid ass, because I hardly shamble by on my own. I was fucking spoiled, okay? I honestly thought, for a solid few minutes, that I'd be better off dead than alone again." Harley's eyes widened, and he reached for Jo's face. Jo brushed his hand away. "I said something to you yesterday. Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"

"Of course I do." Harley clasped his hands together. "Joel, I could never for-"

"Good." Jo cut him off and broke what little eye contact he was making, his eyes running down the wall beside them. "I meant it. And if you asked me to say it again, I still would, and mean it, even more than before. I just... I'm not good enough for you, Harley. I've done some rotten shit that I can't take back, and you deserve a lot better than that. Than me. The Father covered for me last night, but I'm turning myself in today." Harley balled his fists tight, and Jo hung his head. "I'm in love with you, but I'm trash. I'm sorry."

The music stung in the silence, the vocalist crooning out: " _I'll end up alone like I began..._ "

To Jo's surprise, Harley scoffed and marched over to the radio, yanked Jo's auxiliary cord out and plugged it into his own phone. "You can't honestly think I believe that." Jo pivoted around to watch, his jaw dropping as Harley quietly groused. "I can't stand your music sometimes. All that screaming and morose, droning bass, it's no wonder you let yourself think like this." The music changed, and Jo heard organs. Harley turned again and faced him, his lips drawn tight in a stern expression. "If you remember meeting me before, than you'll know that I've waited for you for nearly four years. Four years, Joel. I've lived half of a life, pining and waiting, all because I thought yours was the heart that completed mine, and you unilaterally decide you're simply not good enough?" He looked wholly cross now, and Jo shook off his shock, returned to his side and clasped his hand.

"You can't tell me it's not true. You deserve-"

"If I deserve better, I don't want it. Nothing, nobody else will ever mean as much to me as you do. We know too much about each other, and I never want to be as intimate as anyone else as I have been with you."

Jo cringed in the echo from the speakers: " _It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to keep warm._ "

"Harl, please." Jo switched the auxiliary over to his own phone again and hit random on the music player. "You gotta understand, this ain't easy for me either. It took me a lot of kicks in my own ass to figure myself out-"

"I hate to think of you abusing yourself so. Am I that difficult?"

"No! No. Don't twist it like that." Jo grabbed his own head. "I just- It took me a lot of figuring out that maybe I'm not as straight as I thought. I dunno if I'm actually anything anymore. But it was hard to get over that, and shit, then I got to kiss you, and it was worth it." He threw his hands up again. "Kissing someone I'm in love with, I mean, I'd never done that before. I hate knowing I'm giving that up. You gotta understand, though, it's for your own good. Isn't that what you do when you care about someone?"

"And do you honestly think I want that?" Harley switched the auxiliary over again, the music as soft and low as his voice. "Do you think I care about my own good enough to sacrifice someone more important to me than my own life?"

"Don't talk about me like that, Harl."

"Why not? It's true." Anger simmered under his shadowed brow. "You thought you were spoiled. You were the one who spoiled me, because you let me give you all of the kindness I deny myself! Being with you, near you, around you, makes me feel complete."

"I don't like that." Jo advanced a step, holding out a hand as if he could stop him. Christ, this was worse than those movies where the kid has to tell the dog to run away! "Harley-"

"You gave me a reason to live, and saved my life to boot." Harley folded his arms and tried to ignore all the heat in his cheeks. "If saving my life isn't good enough..."

Jo switched the music again and drew himself up tall. "You don't owe me for that. Not you. Even if you did, you've more than made up for it. You saved my stupid ass last night! You've got so much more to offer-"

"That's simply not so. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you." Jo could see the red in Harley's cheeks was spreading to his eyes, and he was starting to sound frantic. Jo grabbed his hands.

"Harl, you're wonderful!"

"You can't say that! Not when I-"

"No." Jo squeezed Harley's hands tight. "Don't. It's not true. Whatever you think you did, that's not what happened. I panicked, it sucked, but you didn't hurt me."

"I..." Harley was shaking, Jo could feel it, and it was hard to see someone who he knew to be strong breaking under so little pressure. Harley composed himself, and managed to look into Jo's face, those bright green eyes piercing through him in the dim light of the alley. "I can't think of any other reason why you'd search for excuses to leave."

"Harl, I'm just-"

"You're trying to tell me what I want, while saying I'm everything you want. Aren't you allowed to be happy, Jo?"

Jo struggled, but it was hard to argue when Harley was here in front of him, so alive, so bright, and clearly just as emotionally raw as he was. Harley turned Jo's hold into his, and spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music: "Do you really want to give me up?"

"No! No, damn it, no, I don't want to give you up!"

_"Don't let me drown!"_

At that, Jo turned the music off, and he couldn't help but laugh. "God damn it, you're right. It is making me miserable." Harley gamely smiled along, his smile as fragile as the rest of him, but turned the speakers back on and changed the song again.

"Nor do I. It took us this long, Joel." Harley stepped back, holding on more loosely when he took hold of Jo's arms again, and calming down quickly. "We went through so much, and it wasn't easy. You may deny it, but I know I hurt you, and that set us back so far." Harley ran his thumb over Jo's knuckles, and Jo closed his eyes to hold back a surge of guilt and shame.

_"First you lose trust, then you get worried..."_

"But if you're really past it, I'll find a way to forgive myself. Regret is a hobby for people who have no future, and I have one." Harley leaned a little closer, but Jo shook his head, and reluctantly changed the song again.

"That's the thing, I'm not sure if I do. Like I said, I'm going to do the right thing. Believe me, there's nothing I want to do less."

"Joel..." Harley squeezed his hand, and he hung his head.

"But it's what you'd do." He stepped in just a little, and let Harley rest against him. "I thought you'd be proud of me."

"I will be. If this is what you want, I will stand by you the whole way through." Harley cautiously lifted his hands, then wrapped them around Jo's back. "I'm afraid you simply can't be rid of me anymore. Even if you do decide you don't love me anymore, I'll stalk you to your grave." Jo chuckled and rolled his eyes, but Harley pressed just that little bit closer. "You're everything I want and more. You're mine now. I hope that's alright with you."

"There's nothin' more I want than to be yours. You're the best part of me. I can't stand thinking about a life without you." Jo had no idea how he'd failed so spectacularly, but when he wrapped his arms around Harley again, he wondered if what had ended up happening was a failure at all. The song on the radio changed again, and Jo recognized it and quietly sang along over Harley's shoulder: _"I hear the voice of the preacher from the back room calling my name and I follow just to find you..."_ He turned the music off, but sang on anyway: _"I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face."_ Harley backed away to look up into his eyes again, and god, he felt warm. Wanted. Needed. Loved. _"I didn't know I was broken 'til I wanted to change, and I want to get better!"_

Harley touched Jo's cheek, caressing it, and whispered, "I want that, too." He ran his fingers down his scars, then tilted his face up towards his. Jo took the open invitation and pressed his mouth against Harley's.

It was everything those big black and white movies had told Jo a kiss should be. The symphony should have swelled around him, but he felt it in his chest. Harley tasted good, sweet, his mouth gave to Jo's, and when his lips moved against his, he got just a little bit of teeth, nipping at Jo's mouth and tongue as they crossed. They only broke apart because Jo ran out of air, and backed away, panting. Harley caught his shoulder. "I know this is new territory for you, but I'll let you set the pace. We can explore this together. If you're not ready to do more than this, touching, hugging, kissing, then I'll be patient. Even if you're never ready-"

"Harl." Jo shook his head. "Babe. I, I don't want to dig into this too much. Fact is, I broke parole, and I gotta face the music. I already called Yana." He checked his cell phone. "I gotta be there in an hour, and I figure while she's putting the cuffs on me, I can tell her everything I know about what happened last night."

"Dear, silly, honest man." Harley laced his fingers with Jo's and kissed his cheek. "I suppose committing violent crimes constitutes a violation of my parole as well. The two of us should face the music together."

Jo felt his face flush crimson, and felt ridiculously pleased at the sensation. He grinned at Harley, and squeezed their twined fingers. "Sure. Together. We can be cellmates."

Harley insisted Jo drink a glass of orange juice, and Jo convinced Harley to eat something solid. They left together, walking the bike again but leaving the stereo. Jo figured he could let Steele know that Gage could have it once he got booked. As Jo took the bike up towards Ken's garage, Harley walked a few paces behind him, making a phone call. Jo could hear a little bit of his conversation as he chained the bike up to a pole outside of the storage unit, and left a note that only said "Thank you and sorry!" tucked into the basket. He figured out that Harley was on the phone with his parole officer pretty easily:

"... terribly sorry about my behavior. I'd like to discuss, but as I was telling you, I very much would like to do so with my roommate as moral support. If you need a waiver..." He paused, and Jo motioned that he was ready. Harley followed, still talking. "... Actually, I've met Yana. I ran into her with my roommate over the summer. I'm completely comfortable with her. She has a meeting with him this morning, so if you..." Harley paused, and Jo watched his mouth remain ajar as the person on the other end spoke. "Yes. Yes. Of course. We'll be there shortly. Thank you." He hung up, and Jo pretended he hadn't been listening intently and tried to focus on making his feet move forward. "My parole officer has agreed to a joint meeting with you and yours."

"Okay, sure," Jo muttered, then blinked a few times and lifted his head. Watching the ground was making him dizzy. "Hey, uh, if I pass out, could you call them and tell them?"

"I'm afraid I'll be too busy calling an ambulance. Joel, do we need to go back and let you rest?"

"Uh-uh."

Harley frowned, his eyebrows tangled with mingling worry and concern. "Please don't lie to me. You likely have a moderately severe concussion, and if more rest is what you need, then you should have it."

"I can rest later. If I stop now, I'm gonna give up, and that's just gonna cause more problems. Yana's gonna have to chew me out today, even if she's gotta do it to a hospital bed."

Harley sighed a mournful, "Oh, Joel," but took and held his hand as they reached the bus stop. He found the two of them a seat when the bus arrived and all but pushed Jo's head onto his shoulder, and stroked Jo's hair until he closed his eyes. Jo couldn't remember the last time someone had lavished such attention on his hair, his thin fingers weaving gently worship between each strand, and the sensation lulled him into a light sleep, laid heavy against Harley's arm. Harley smiled contently and let Jo rest until they arrived at the Madison building.

The secretary with the ratty beehive scoffed as Jo ambled in, stumbling despite Harley's handhold keeping him upright, but he managed a smile at her. "Sorry I'm late." She ignored him, but Harley ushered him on and to the elevator.

"Let's not keep Miss Yana waiting. Once this is all over, I'm going to insist you see a proper doctor."

"I'll ask the nice policemen about it." Jo slouched in the elevator, a wry, dry grin coloring his words. "I'll just try to be sure the dick cops don't try to finish the job." Harley admonished him again, but Jo patted Harley's back as the doors shut.

Yana's door was closed when they reached it, and Jo could hear multiple voices within. At least two, but Jo thought he could hear another man speaking. He went to sit in the chair across from her office door, but Harley caught him by the elbow, knocked, and called through. "Ms. Nenevich? Mr. James?"

The conversation quieted, and a friendly, deep voice answered, "Harl, if I've told you once, I've told you a dozen times. It's Dan. We're here, come on in."

Harley opened the door and pushed Jo in first, and Jo gaped around the room. He'd been right. Yana waited behind her desk, a big, dark-haired guy he didn't know was sitting in her arm chair, and Ken was sitting on the ottoman. Ken roared up to his feet, and Harley quickly pulled the door shut.

"Alright, damn it, why'd you steal the bike?"

Jo held his hands up. "Borrowed. Borrowed the bike. You can call the garage, I left it there, it's chained up right now, I'm real sorry, and I can explain-"

"I could have called Yana on your shit weeks ago! I was giving you time to get another job, but you're wasting it! You really think I need to be dealing with someone stealing my bikes when I've got a whole universe of mess falling on my lap!" He started numbering it off on his fingers. "First, my stepmother spends three weeks harassing me daily after you gave her my personal information-"

"- Genie Maoh's your stepmother? -"

"- Then out of the blue, this morning I find out she's been arrested, and her lawyers are saying she wants me to run her side businesses and hold the profits in trust for Lily in case she doesn't get out! I can't run two businesses, especially not one that's got no employees and is already halfway into the ground. Add to that finding out my ex-boyfriend got shot yesterday, and I-" Ken came up short and stopped all at once. "God damn it." He sank back down, his face in his hands. "I just... I'm... Yana, whatever you're going to do to this guy, please do it."

"Holy hell," the big guy muttered, and Jo already didn't like the way he was looking at him. "Kenny, this guy was the one who screwed you and Lily over?"

"I made a bad delivery," Jo admitted quietly, feeling dizzy again already. "I was hung over and gave Genie Maoh the company information. Believe me, in a lot of ways, I wish I hadn't done it."

"But if we hadn't," Harley countered from behind Jo. "We wouldn't be standing here, and Genie Maoh may not have been arrested. Joel, please tell them everything."

"Joel?" Harley's parole officer sat up straight, eyes wide, and there was something sharp in his tone and body language all at once. He looked like a man who'd been shot. Yana frowned and rose from her seat.

"Danny, are you okay?"

Jo, however, felt a frown crease his face as the big guy stood up, all broad shoulders and a strong jaw, his thick black hair, that powerful brow - he was remembering a man who always looked a little sad who only lived in the far corners of his memory. Harley tapped his shoulder.

"Jo?" There was a sweet note to it, and Jo noticed Harley's gaze flit over to watch Dan. Dan put a hand over his mouth, then scrubbed it down his chin.

"Jo... Sha?" Jo felt a chill run through him as he met Dan's eyes, and Harley stepped back away from him as Dan took a step towards him. Jo could see him puzzling him out, disbelief and dawning realization, and Jo could only wonder what the hell was going on around him when Dan covered his mouth to laugh into his palm. "Oh my fucking shit." Still laughing and grinning, he lifted a hand. "Uh, hey. You're... you're Jo Sha, aren't you?" He grinned back at Yana and Ken, then at Jo again. "I... I go by Daniel J. James. But, uh, that's not the name I was born with. That... that J I've lugged around..." He laughed again, then patted his chest. "I'm Jack, Jo."

Everything clicked at once, as Jo realized he was looking at his older brother's face for the first time in fifteen years.

Without even a second's warning, Dan threw his arms around Jo, and Jo let himself be caught up in the embrace, and the both of them were screaming and shouting, grabbing at each others' faces and shoulders. "Jackie!"

"Oh my God, it's you!"

"You're alive!"

"You're here! I can't believe it!"

"Fucking shit! Where the hell have you been?!"

"I've been looking for you, I've been looking for you for years..." They froze, Dan holding Jo by his shoulders, Jo with his hands squeezing Dan's head, and Dan shook his head, tears streaking his cheeks. Yana and Ken watched, awestruck, as Harley stood back with a self-satisfied little smile. Dan shook his head to try to shake the tears off. "Where'd you go? Why'd you run away?"

"I dunno, I got scared, I didn't know what else to do, and you were gone, and shit, I... I was still just a dumbass kid." Jo hung his head against Dan's shoulder. "I thought I'd never see you again. I thought you'd never come back for me."

"Hell, the second I could start looking, I did! Shit, I'm gonna get my money back from that goddamned person-finder!"

"No wonder I couldn't find you. Dan, huh?" Jo punched his shoulder, and Dan laughed and mussed Jo's hair.

"I changed it after I got off. I didn't want to think of my old life ever again, and I figured you were little, you wouldn't know how to look for me anyway. So, once Rosie got me on my feet, she started helping me search, and I carried it on myself after she passed away."

"Rosie?"

"Ken's mom- oh, hell, Ken!" Dan swung Jo around, still crushing him to his chest with one thick arm. "Guys, this is him. This is the guy I've been looking for!"

"I gathered that," Ken said, sounding hesitant, then he glanced to Yana. "Why didn't you... ?"

"I... I had no idea..." She turned her eyes to Harley, and his proud smile turned to a broad grin.

"Ah, yes, well, Dan told me about his youth, and Jo told me about his stepmother, and their stories aligned too neatly. Add to that a photograph of a familiar face in his office and his mention that he was looking for a Joel Sha, and really, it was simple math. My deepest regret is that I could not unite the two of you sooner. Unfortunately, I've been a bit, er, off of late." He pursed his lips, as Dan slowly released Jo. Jo stumbled back, and Harley caught him. "God, Joel!"

"M'okay. M'just dizzy. That was a good hug." Jo got into a chair and scrubbed both hands over his eyes. Dan had chased him at his near-collapse, and Yana had jerked forward from her seat in surprise. "It was real good."

"We can't forget why we're here," Harley said softly, and looked around the room. "Joel and I have both broken our parole at this point."

"This is true." Ken glanced between Dan and Yana, then sighed. "I did have to fire Jo. He broke one of my two big rules, and I can't rehire him or the other employees will get the wrong idea about my rules. Besides that, he missed a parole meeting. I'm surprised you haven't already put out a warrant for his arrest."

"He's been a good parolee up until three weeks ago." Yana was still observing Jo with her lips pursed in a nervous frown. "I wanted to give him a chance. Jo, can you explain yourself?"

Jo cringed and looked up at Harley, who rested a hand on his shoulder. "This is what you came here to do, isn't it?" His smile filled Jo with determination, and Dan pulling a chair next to him only bolstered him. He took a breath, and looked at Ken.

"You remember that recording I brought you that morning? Of Genie Maoh talking with Neil Jenning about breaking G. Maoh out of prison?" Yana gasped, and Ken lowered his head. Jo sat forward. "You said she was your step-mom?"

Ken huffed and turned his head away, then drummed his fingers on the chair as if he could drown out the question that had been asked. Finally, he answered quietly, "My mother, Rosetta, got involved with Guan Maoh when she was in high school. She told me those were her 'wild days,' and she had no idea what she was getting into. She conceived me before she could graduate, and her parents forced her to marry him, then disowned her. They knew what he was." Ken made eye contact with Jo again, his expression grave. "When I met you, I introduced myself by my full name, if you'll recall. This is a test I give any potential new employee. Maoh, even in Shangri-La, is a notorious crime family, and every branch but mine is thick in the yakuza and in gangs. If a potential employee recognizes the name and shows me any sort of reverence or deference for it, then I know for a fact that they are too deeply involved and are either going to commit again, or already have."

"Shit, man, I knew about G. Maoh. Benny talked him up all the time." Jo frowned and scratched his head. "I just figured it was a common name."

"Your ignorance was a benefit." Ken grunted and slouched forward, fidgeting with his fingers. "But when my mom realized what she'd gotten into, she, well, she got out. She had to force the issue on the divorce, but she got it. I haven't spoken with my father in over fifteen years. Eugenie Maoh is his second wife, and shortly after she dumped Lily on us, she started harassing us. My mother very nearly had to change our identities, and we've done our best to carefully safeguard our information to keep Genie from ruining Lily's life and making our home hell. So, when you gave her my phone number-"

"Kenny." Yana spoke rather sharply, and Jo noticed her frowning. "He said he had a recording of her talking with Neil Jenning. Wasn't he arrested this morning as well?"

Ken tensed, and Jo noticed his throat work as he swallowed. "Uh... that's..."

"Maybe I can jog your memory, boss." Jo rested his elbows on his knees and leaned in. "So, after making my delivery from Genie to Dr. Jenning, I had to go back for my phone, and happened to overhear a conversation between her and him talking about breaking G. Maoh out of jail."

He dug his phone out and played the recording. Ken couldn't pretend to be surprised, but Dan and Yana listened with their jaws agape. Jo left the phone on Yana's end table and sat back again, and Harley ran his hand down the back of his head. "So, uh, after that, I kinda got wrapped up in trying to stop it."

With Dan's hand on his shoulder and Harley at his back, he told them how he broke up the gang meeting. Harley only spoke up to help a few times to help or clarify the details, and then to explain how he'd made sure Jenning and Genie couldn't leave until the police arrived, but the story left Yana and Ken each stunned, Yana sunken back into her chair, Ken with his head hung. Dan didn't break his hand away from Jo, rubbing and patting his shoulder and back. When Jo finished, he observed each of the others, and heard a sigh of relief from Ken.

"You brave, stupid, brilliant idiot."

"My God," Yana breathed, and wiped a hand across her forehead. "I can't believe you would put yourself at risk like that! And that it worked!"

"Yeah, well." Jo sat back again, and he felt his brain rock. "G. Maoh's still in jail, and hopefully, his bitch of a girlfriend and her sicko boyfriend stay there. I wanna ask what I gotta do to keep them there, and..." He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "And if I gotta go, too."

"Oh, Jo, no." Yana got up from her chair and circled around to join him, her hands folded in front of her, and she bent over a little to meet his eyes. "I think we need to talk to the police, but I'm almost certain we'll be able to keep you out of trouble. I'm not going to handcuff you, but I'd like if we all went down to Central and had a chat with the detectives there. Is that fair?"

"That's fair." Jo didn't meet her eyes, and instead glanced back to Harley. "I dunno what it's going to do about me being broke and on the verge of being homeless, or not having a job, but I guess that's a start."

"You won't be homeless," Dan muttered, and squeezed Jo's shoulder. "If you can't afford your place, you'll come live with me. You're my baby brother, that is the bare minimum I can do."

"We can work all of the details out later." Yana rose to her feet. "Jo, I'll back you up for your good behavior."

"I'm behind you too," Dan volunteered, and Ken, too, got to his feet.

"If there's anything I can do to help, I will."

Harley leaned down next to Jo's ear. "It's going to be okay, you see? Hope springs eternal." He kissed the patch of jaw just under Jo's ear as he stood upright, and when Jo looked up, he saw Yana wide-eyed but smiling, Ken with his eyebrows raised, and Dan grinning.

"You got this, baby bro."

With Harley- his Harley- at his back and Dan- Jack, his Jack- in front of him, Jo was sure he could believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a playlist for the radio scene in this chapter! https://8tracks.com/ezratheblue/jukebox-love 
> 
> Special thanks to sausage-fist on tumblr for the art of Harley and Jo. 
> 
> For those of you curious about the songs mentioned in the chapter:
> 
> "Corduroy" - Pearl Jam
> 
> "Keep Warm" - Frightened Rabbit
> 
> "Drown" - Bring Me The Horizon
> 
> "First" - Cold War Kids
> 
> and of course
> 
> "I Wanna Get Better" - Bleachers


	35. Spilling Your Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo is off to the police station to confess everything, but he doesn't go alone.

**33: Spilling Your Guts**

Jo still felt dizzy, with stings of pain streaking through his body, as he approached the front desk of the central booking office. He recognized one of the detectives behind the desk, a kind-looking man with dark hair and boxy glasses, and waved to him. Officer Po waved back and came to him, wading through the junior officers rushing through the narrow cubicle corridors with paperwork and the chaos of the morning.

"You're a friend of Father Steele's, aren't you? How's Gage been?"

"Uh, fine."

"Good to hear!" Po smiled in a way that reminded Jo of someone he knew. Jo glanced behind him to where Harley watched and waited with Ken, Dan, and Yana. "But I don't suppose you're here to update me on the status of our mutual young friend." He looked forward, and realized Po was examining him like an owl behind his glasses. "How can I help you?"

Jo looked back again, swallowed, then faced Officer Po again. He held his hands out. "I'm here so you can arrest me. That way, you can interrogate me and make me talk."

Po, to his credit, took this in stride. "I'm afraid you're in the exact wrong place for dominatrix play, and while I'm flattered, I'm in a committed relationship-"

"No, no, I ain't hittin' on you. You're nice and all, but..." He trailed off, then hung his head. "Look, you really wanna arrest me."

Officer Po pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly not sure of how to respond, and raised his hand. Officer Ren, across the room, noticed and joined them, looking as vaguely amused as ever despite the circles under his eyes. "What's up, Terry?"

"He wants to be arrested. I'm not sure what to do."

Ren scratched his head, his smile drooping, and turned his gaze between Jo and Officer Po a few times, before focusing on Jo with a facsimile of his easygoing grin. "Hey, listen, I'm not sure what you're trying to pull, but you're not wanted on anything, and we don't have time to waste on pranks. I know you, you're old man Steele's friend, and you're a good guy."

"That's why I'm turning myself in." Jo bit back frustration, and put his palms flat on the counter. "I want you to interrogate me because I was at the gang gathering last night and you want to hear everything I have to say. Uh, I committed a robbery, too, last week, so you want to charge me with breaking and entering." He started to number things on his fingers, but struggled for the first. "You want to charge me with, fuck, I dunno, assault, shit, I think Ken called it collusion, conspiracy, charge me with everything and I will tell you everything." He winced. "Please listen to me."

The desperate note in his voice must have convinced them.

Po sat Jo down in an interrogation room – which was exactly like Jo saw in the movies, the soundproofing panels in the walls, the big mirror that definitely was a one-way mirror, the tiny metal chairs, the whole shebang – but didn't handcuff him. Po instead straightened the chair across from him and departed, and he settled down, getting ready to twist and wait. He heard Officer Ren talking to Harley outside the door:

"Is he under arrest?"

"He's a person of interest. We can't arrest him until there's proof of wrongdoing."

Po shut the door, and Jo went for his cell phone. Po started to admonish him, but he found the recording again and played it, and Po quickly shut his mouth and listened. After a minute, he held a hand up. "I will happily listen to the remainder of this, but I am going to get a detective first." He pivoted stiffly and marched out, and Jo shuddered as the heavy door fell shut with a definitive click. Only a moment later, however, the door opened again, and Harley entered with Officer Ren at his back.

"Since you're not under arrest, and your friend here tells me you've got a head injury, I'm gonna let him sit with you to make sure you don't pass out or get sick." Ren prodded Harley, and he skittered forward into the seat next to Jo's. He hunched over in it, his fingers tenting on the chilly table. Ren frowned, but Jo put a hand on the small of Harley's back.

"I appreciate that, man, thanks." He rubbed his palm there, and Harley pushed his spine in to imitate proper posture. Ren's questioning expression didn't change, but he turned and left, letting the door shut behind him. "How ya feelin', Harl?"

"I should ask you that." Harley didn't lift his head, but Jo scooted his chair closer. The metal legs ground against the concrete and screeched off the thick walls, but Harley's head on his shoulder was a comfort nonetheless.

"Yeah, but I'm a stubborn asshole and I'm not gonna be happy until you tell me first."

Harley giggled against Jo's sleeve. "Ah. I'm... I'm tired. I'm not in a bad way yet, but I'm starting to feel a bit... off. I think I might be frightened."

"You think you're scared?" Jo chuckled, but patted Harley's back, then dared to touch his hair. It was exactly as soft and warm as chocolate that had been sitting in the sun, and Harley leaned into his palm.

"It's neither here nor there. I'm with you, from here until oblivion." He sat upright, as if he knew the door was going to open just then.

Jo thought he might have seen the white-haired detective somewhere around, and Harley was certain he recognized him as the detective who'd visited Steele at the hospital. Even in the stark white light from the bar bulbs overhead, he was too pale, skin as pale as flawless quartz, pale blue eyes, and a grim, grave expression that only made him look more like stone. Jo found himself withdrawing from Harley, then sinking back into his chair as the detective apprised him. After a moment, the detective sighed. "I'm Detective Gordon Lejeune. If you cannot pronounce it, Detective June or even Officer June is fine. If you need translation services, they can be provided. " He paused, sighed again, then said something Jo did not understand, but recognized as French. He then spoke in a language Jo didn't even recognize, but Harley raised a hand.

"We both speak English. He only speaks English."

"Excellent." Detective June remained flatly bemused. "Would you like an attorney present?"

"Uh-uh." Jo put his hand on Harley's knee under the table. "I got nothing to hide."

"The offer stands." June paused, lips pursed, then quietly said, "It is called albinism. It is not contagious."

"What?" Jo blinked a few times, then realized. "Oh, shit, was I staring? I'm sorry, Officer, I'm exhausted, and this goose egg I got's making it a little hard to focus."

"Ah." June's expression cleared, though Jo hadn't noticed him scowl, and he took the chair across from Jo's, his face neutral but not unfriendly, his hands folded on the table. "Yes, Kevin Ren said your companion mentioned as much. How did that happen?"

Jo didn't even hesitate; it came as easily as singing along to his favorite song on the radio. "Benny Rihan and a bunch of his goons ganged up and shitkicked me after the gang rally at the old Pepsi plant."

Detective June, to his credit, hid his reaction in every way except for an unmistakable widening of the eyes, but cleared his throat. "The Pepsi plant, you say?"

"I suppose that hasn't been released to the general public," Harley murmured. "We would only know that was where the gang meeting occurred if we had been there."

June's eyebrows remained raised, but he conceded a small nod. "That's correct." He shifted in his seat and refolded his hands. "Alright, what would you like to tell me?"

Jo tapped his phone. "I'll say plenty, but this sucker right here's got a lot more to say." He fidgeted a little, then showed June the player on his phone. "September 20, I got a phone call from Zack Ro's boss, Eugenie Maoh. She called me to her apartment to deliver a box to Neil Jenning. I have her signature in a PDF file, which I emailed to my boss, Ken Maoh, but if you gimme a minute to dig, I can find it. This, though, well, I ended up overhearing a conversation between Ms. Maoh and Dr. Jenning that... I..." He furrowed his brow. "I recorded it." He hit play and pushed the phone over towards June.

June actually held the phone up and listened, paused it midway through to get out a notepad, and scrawled notes. His expression didn't change, stern and aloof throughout, but he returned the phone to Jo when the recording crackled to a stop. "Pull up the PDF." Jo obliged, rifling through his documents until he found the right one, and turned the phone back to June. "I want to take these to our tech department to have them verified, and prove that they are not doctored in any way. Do I have to get a warrant?"

"Take it, Officer." Jo waved a hand. "While you're at it, you can check my call records. You'll find Ms. Maoh in there somewhere between nine and noon on the twentieth."

"You're very forward." June held the phone back out to Jo. "It's just a swipe unlock?"

"Yeah. I just want you to know I'm telling the truth." Jo's voice crackled in the back of his throat, and he jerked his gaze away from June's. His glare was as hard and heavy as granite, though he spoke lightly as he withdrew.

"Very well." He turned on his heel, shoulders back and high, and strode out. Jo felt him pull the air with him, almost as uncomfortable in his wake as he had been when he walked in. Harley, who'd been silent through the recording and conversation, took and clasped Jo's hand, and Jo turned to face him.

"That's good. That was very good. I'm very proud of you." Harley's smile was like warm air, but Jo could breathe again in its presence. "I had a question for you."

"Well, we're in an interrogation room anyway." His grin couldn't hide the quaver in his vowels, but Harley ignored it as if he had his usual brash bluster firmly in place. "What can I do for ya?"

"I suppose, frankly, I wanted to ask how you wanted..." Harley trailed off, his fingers clamping tight around Jo's, his face dropping, before continuing in a murmur, "How you wanted us to work." Jo knew what he was doing, but he leaned into it nonetheless.

"Guess we got a lot to talk about." Anything but the walls that surrounded them today.

Both of them pretended the one-way mirror was just a mirror, and that Officers Po and Ren weren't listening. However, Officers Po and Ren were listening and sharing a pot of coffee as Harley and Jo talked.

"No idea why we're listening to this," Ren grumbled, then took a long swallow of his coffee. It reeked of burnt beans, but that was the way he liked it, straight and hot. "I don't think we're gonna get any more out of Red there than he wants to give us."

"Be patient." Po's coffee was going cold in his hands after the sixth creamer and seventh sugar cube. "I think Mr. Sha intends to tell us everything he knows once he thinks we're listening."

"Then why are you listening when he's just..." Ren flapped his hand a few times. "Being mushy?"

Po was silent, instead focusing on the conversation transmitted through a hidden recorder, as Harley squeezed Jo's hand on the table.

"... It's exactly like I said. Anything you're willing to give will be enough, because it's you." Harley's hand was pressed tight over Jo's, and his thumb ran gently across the back of his palm. "I want to know what you want out of, well, me."

"Just you." Ren grunted with disgust at Jo's instant response, as Jo fervently leaned towards Harley to close the space between their faces. "I mean, you kinda balance me. I need you around to make jokes with me and think things through with me. I like having you with me." He held eye contact and disguised his dismay with a strained smile. "But you're really okay with never having sex with me?"

"More than okay. I wholly support you." Harley swung Jo's hand in his. "You shouldn't be expected to have sex with me – or with anyone – on the virtue of love or societal expectation. That attitude has harmed individuals who are asexual or sex-repulsed for ages untold. If you wish to have a sexual relationship at some point, I will support that too."

Jo rolled his eyes. "Well, if it's gonna happen, from here on, it'll be with you, Harl. Look, I'm not gonna lie, I've had sex just for the sake of having sex. And I like sex. It feels good, I just always felt, y'know, dirty after."

"And that's alright. You're allowed to enjoy sex, and you're allowed to not enjoy sex."

"But something someone told me kinda struck a nerve. Maybe I've only been straight 'cause I was taught I'm supposed to be straight." Jo's face fell, but Harley tipped it right back up.

"It's okay. You don't have to label yourself. If you'd like, you can say that you're straight, but for specific exceptions." Harley put his nose a little closer to Jo's, and Jo helplessly matched his little smile.

"I guess... is there something in the middle where you don't really want anyone, except someone who you like a lot?"

Harley's expression betrayed hope. "There is. But you don't have to be that if you don't want to. You don't have to be anything, Joel. I fell in love with you, not your sexuality." Po muffled a content croon into his coffee mug, as Ren grunted. Harley, oblivious through the soundproof wall, went on, "If the most I ever have from you is a kiss – even if it's the one kiss we've shared – then I will be entirely satisfied."

"But sex is awesome! You like sex, right?"

"I've enjoyed it, yes." Harley shrugged, but patted Jo's hand. "Honestly, though, I'm an adult. I can handle my own urges as necessary."

Ren actually snickered at this, and Po turned around with a raised brow. "Well, shit, that'll make conjugal visits boring, y'know?"

"Oh, hush. I think they're sweet." Po whirled back around, stomping one foot then tapping it. "Don't you remember being young and so deep in the closet, you thought the jackets were supposed to be there?"

"That was a long time ago." Ren scoffed, his lip curling, and kicked his legs out in his rolling chair. "I look back at ten-years-ago-Kevin and think the same thing I do when I look at that guy." He nodded, the sharp end of his nose pointed right at Jo. "Get yourself together, kid, Christ."

"How long did it take ten-years-ago-Kevin to get himself together, then?" Po crossed his arms tight, and Ren thought for a moment, then relaxed into a smile.

"I guess ten-years-ago-Kevin is still on his way sometimes." He sat forward and set his empty coffee cup down, and looked to see Harley had withdrawn from Jo and was rubbing his forehead, and heard Jo urgently whispering:

"Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me, babe."

"I... I'm sorry... I'm starting..." Harley made eye contact, only to reveal his pupils were dilated. "I think... I need a break..."

Jo jumped to his feet and staggered to the glass. "Hey, uh, if there's someone in there, my buddy here's not exactly on his meds, and he really needs to be on his meds. Can someone go let him get some water or something?"

The interrogation room door opened, and Detective June entered. "Mr. Cho, did you need a moment?" Harley nodded, and June stepped aside, gesturing with a tiny bow and allowing Harley to hurry out. Harley whispered a promise to return in a watery voice, but June shut the door behind him, and Jo buckled into the chair, deflated. June put Jo's phone down on his side of the table, a small stack of papers beside it, and lowered himself into his seat with a soft groan. He flipped over a few pages, and though Jo leaned forward, he had a confident feeling over what they said about the data on his phone. After a few moments of silence, June spoke without lifting his eyes.

"Mr. Sha, why did you not come forward before?"

"Didn't think anyone'd believe me." Jo's shoulders drooped. "Thought you'd think I had something to do with it. Didn't really wanna go back to jail. Now, I know I don't have a choice."

June heaved another deep, rolling sigh, then braced his hands on the table and fixed his gaze on Jo. "You have a record?"

"Yeah. I got arrested when I was fifteen and pleaded guilty. I don't remember all the details, but I'm still on parole for another year and change."

"I see." June drummed his fingers on the table, then interlaced his fingers. "I'd like you to tell me exactly how you got this recording and Mrs. Maoh's signatures, as well as Neil Jenning's phone number."

Jo had known it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. He let his eyes sit on the now-empty chair that Harley had taken a few moments ago, already significantly feeling his absence, but turned to June and began from the top.

* * *

Dan and Yana had waited in the lobby, seated in the uncomfortable, stiff metal chairs that lined the walls, filling out paperwork and talking quietly, when they spotted Harley staggering out of the side hallway. Dan got to his feet and caught his arms. "Hey, Harl, what's going on?"

Harley's focus darted around the floor, his mouth working without sound. Finally, he managed, "They're on my skin. I feel them moving. They're moving." He swallowed a few times. "I know they're not real, but I can _feel_ them, Dan, I -"

"You're still going through withdrawal." Dan pressed his hands on Harley's shoulders as if he could compress him. Yana stood, but Dan shook his head. "Harley, do we need to go to a quiet place?"

"I think I'd like that a lot," Harley choked, then looked towards Yana, pleading for forgiveness with every wrought line in his face. "I tried, but I could only hold it together so long. Please, forgive me. Please ask Joel to forgive me."

"Shh." Dan pressed a little firmer, but made eye contact with Yana. "See if you can get a space blanket or something. I'm gonna find an empty room for this guy to calm down in." He hurried Harley away, but Yana could hear him muttering into his ear, "We're family now, and I take care of mine..." She stared after them, dumbfounded, but was shocked from her reverie by a weary sigh in her ear, and turned to find, of all things, a young priest with deep bags under droopy eyes and the scent of cheap cigarettes clinging to his hair and clothes.

"There goes one of the moron brigade." He exhaled impatiently, and turned his set-in glower to her. "Where's the other idiot?"

* * *

Jo had sat alone in the interrogation room for about ten minutes after telling June the full story of how he'd gotten the recording, and the solitude was all but crushing. He knew he was being watched through the mirror, and he was certain that he wouldn't just pass out anymore, but Harley had distracted him from the heavy reality that he would be leaving this room in handcuffs. He just anticipated, every second, that the door would open, and June would come in with steel and chains with his name engraved on them. When the door did open, he first braced himself to the chair, but relaxed when he saw Officer Po escorting Father Steele.

"Please knock if you need anything, Father. Detective June will be here soon." Po shut the door, and Steele seized a spare chair from against the wall, dragged it next to Jo's, and kicked into it. He didn't make eye contact, but took out his cigarette box and flipped a smoke into his mouth. Then he held the box out to Jo. Jo quickly did the math, but shook his head.

"Pretty sure I'm in enough trouble, Padre."

Steele scoffed, but put his own cigarette anyway. "Damned anti-smoker laws."

Before Jo could ask what Steele was doing there, the door opened and June entered with a fresh notepad and a manila folder. "Mr. Sha, I'm going to ask you to start giving me more specifics-" He lifted his eyes from the folder, and a small, unpracticed smile came to him. "Ah, good afternoon, Gabriel. How has Gage been?"

"Recovering at home. He's eating well, at least, but he still gets tired and out of breath easily.

But that's not why I'm here."

"I see. Then why are you here?"

Steele shrugged, but Jo answered, "Moral support."

"Let's go with that." Then, Steele punched Jo's shoulder (much lighter than he would normally) and gestured to June. "Start talking, wiseass."

Jo grunted and rubbed his arm, as June raised his eyebrows and took his seat. "I didn't think a priest would be the bad cop," he mused, but let his astonishment sink into his even temper. "So, you said you had information. Did that information include names?"

"I only know three. Neil Jenning, Genie Maoh, and Benny Rihan." Jo crossed his arms and bowed his head, trying to duck June's piercing stare. "I'm not marked, so most of 'em didn't trust me. I didn't ask for names, never knew who I was with except the guy who invited me along and the two at the top." Inspiration flashed behind his eyelids, and he held a hand up. "Hey, I saw faces. If you show me pictures, I can tell you if they were there."

June shrugged a bit, but got to his feet. "I'll oblige. I'll be back." He left, and Steele watched Jo remain slumped in his chair without even dodging for the open out while it was there. He didn't bother to turn as the heavy door fell shut again. Steele's nostrils flared, but he dug into his pocket again, this time coming up with a deck of cards. He dropped it onto the table, and Jo's face brightened with interest.

"Strip Poker, old man? I knew you had a saucy side."

Steele scoffed but broke the deck open. "It's Go Fish or I dump your corpse in the Bay." He shuffled with dexterity that Jo should have guessed he had from how he handled his pistol, then dealt out. "Poker's better with more anyway. You can teach Gage how to play when you get out of here."

That was a nice thought. Jo had never known Steele to be delusional, but it was nice for him to pretend on his behalf. It was better than having some strange woman digging her acrylics into his neck and telling him to shut up.

When June returned, Jo and Steele were standing behind their chairs, shouting at one another, Jo pounding his hand on the table: "Where the fuck do you get off?"

"Where do _you_ get off?! It's a children's card game! Why are you cheating?!"

"I'm not! How would I cheat?!"

"Gentlemen," June intoned, his usually even voice raising in volume and severity, and Jo froze up and sank into his chair in an instant. Steele scoffed and scooped all the cards away, muttering something about bringing Old Maid next time Jo got arrested, and tossed a half-hearted glare at June as he eased down into his chair. "I've never seen you quite this fired up, Father."

"We're not what you'd call personally compatible." Steele snorted. "You can put oil and water together, but they don't mix."

"It's a good way to set water on fire, if you've got a spark." June smiled wryly, but it dissolved as he settled against the seat back and focused on Jo again, and Jo practically felt his universe collapse to the narrow range of his fierce gaze. "I do have some photographs for you to review. The general gist is that many of these gentlemen were all arrested and claimed one another as alibi. We'd like you to verify their presence, but speaking of alibi, it's come to my attention that you have one." Jo felt a cold spot in his gut, as Steele scoffed and crossed his arms. June turned his focus to Steele, seamlessly shifting between speaking to a suspect and speaking to someone else. "One of the individuals arrested reported to us that you had been at the rally. Father Steele, we have it on record that you stated that Mr. Sha was with you last night."

"He was." Steele sat back, hunching into his shoulders and glowering at the table. "However, as I mentioned, Gage tires easily, and he still requires attention to his bandages and cleaning the scars. Joel was at the mission before the dinner hour. I took Gage to his bedroom to change his bandages, and when I returned, Jo had left a note stating he was going to his apartment to get clean clothes before the city was shut down completely. I went to bed early, but Gage must have woken up when he heard him come back and found the three of them sitting around playing cards. Harley told me they'd been there a while, explaining Jo's condition. I had joined them for all of ten minutes when the officers arrived. I told them they'd been at the mission all night because I had no reason to believe they hadn't been."

June's expression was skeptical, but that seemed a natural aspect of him. "You know you should have said that."

"I can assure you that he did sleep shortly after your officers left, and didn't leave the mission again until he went to see his parole officer." Steele jostled Jo's leg under the table. "And then, of course, after I accidentally risk my own life and freedom by unknowingly lying to police officers, he turns himself in anyway."

"So he did." June gave Jo an oddly appreciative look, then pushed the photographs across the table. "Mr. Sha, would you be willing to testify under oath as to the presence of any of these men at the gang rally?"

Jo passed his gaze over the pictures, then pointed at one. "That's a really old picture of Officer Ren. I don't know where he was last night, but that's probably not why he's on there." June bit his lip, then firmed his face to avoid looking quite so offended that Jo had picked his ploy, as Jo scanned the rest of the photos, then tapped a few. "Him, him, him. The other two, can't say for sure." He turned to the next page, then selected a few more. "All these, I saw." He then pointed to one of the photographs, frowning. "I... I saw him at the assault at Shalimar's, too. He was one of the two lookouts other than me or Benny. I'll let you know if I see the other one."

"So, that was part of this, too?" June frowned, but crossed his leg over his knee and watched as Jo turned the page with subdued intrigue. Jo nodded, and pointed at a few more pictures on the page. June marked them with a pen, but asked, "Can you explain that to me?"

Steele, who'd watched Jo in silence for the past few minutes, cleared his throat. "I doubt it. But I can."

"Hey, shut up." Jo twisted his neck to glare at Steele. "Benny told me." He turned back to June. "Jenning wanted to wreck that lady to scare Shalimar. Just like he sent that creepy gunman to hurt Gage, to spook Steele. Since priests work close to the ground, they see more and hear more than most."

Steele scoffed and put his hands on the table. "We get it, you're not an idiot. Now shut up, because I know things you don't." Jo clammed up and narrowed his eyes, wishing he could muster the energy to spit venom back, but Steele gave him a pointed look, and he deflated. "As I mentioned to you, Jenning did call me several times before the shooting, and even offered to move Gage to a better hospital in exchange for a conversation. I rejected all offers he made for my own reasons, but after the shooting, because it was too suspicious. Despite the positive view of Jenning from the upper echelons of the church administration, most of us ground-level priests find him condescending and unpleasant. Shalimar felt the same." Steele gave Jo another pointed look, then crossed his arms. "I got in touch with Father Shalimar earlier today. He's been in Philadelphia visiting with some family that was recently brought over, and he's been incommunicado, but he was horrified to hear about what happened to Lakshmi. Apparently, she's his second cousin and had come from Ohio to visit their cousin Deacon Hassan." Jo dropped his eyes away, because he couldn't risk June catching this lie anywhere, especially from him. Steele shrugged his shoulders back and settled against the back of his chair. "He stated that Jenning had made several phone calls to him demanding a meeting. Shalimar had refused several times, and blocked his number shortly before leaving town. I asked Father Shalimar to keep his phone on him in case you wanted to speak with him."

"I certainly will." June pursed his lips, his gaze flicking over to Jo, who had hunched over and started to shake. "If I might ask, Father, what was Jenning trying to accomplish?"

Steele 'hmph'ed, but didn't lift his gaze. "That much is just how Jo said. Like how my predecessor utilized the homeless as watchmen and encouraged them to report crimes and gang activity to him, or Thomas O'Day encouraged victims of violent crimes to report and testify. After all, it's how I met you. I call whenever someone tells me they saw a crime and report what they've seen. Shalimar, too, pushed women to report abuse, and if they had gang associations, he encouraged them to report that as well. Jenning, for his part, claimed his charitable contributions were in the rehabilitation of recently released criminals. He called Shalimar and asked him to curtail the reports made by those he served, claiming it was damaging to the men he was working with."

"That's honestly embarrassing." June grunted and shoved back from the table, then impatiently tapped his toe against the ground. "Apologies. Someone who would willingly injure a woman for no good reason, the very thought... it's an affront to my honor."

"What was done to Ms. Shalimar was truly horrible," Steele agreed, shifting uncomfortably. Jo, too, hunched over, because the shaking was getting worse and spreading. "It was an act of retaliation, there are no two ways about it."

"It's disgusting!" June grimaced, a hint of burgundy coloring his pallid cheeks. "He _mutilated_ an innocent woman – even one I didn't know! – I – "

"Hey." Jo lifted his face, revealing that he was going green where June had gone red. "Look-" He swallowed, unable to even muster a quip. "I need a trash can."

Jo miraculously made it to the restroom before losing what little he'd eaten that morning, and prayed that Officer Ren, standing outside of the stall, didn't think less of him for it. He would be thankful to never think about what had happened to Shalimar again, the acid lingering in his throat punishment for daring to let his mind slip back there. When he did get up to his feet and out of the stall, Ren was propped against the sink with a paper cup, and he filled it from the tap and held it out to him. "You do look like hell. Do you need medical attention?" Jo shook his head, but gratefully washed his mouth out.

"Maybe after you're done questioning me. I think I'll live that long." He grinned, but Ren shook his head and patted his back.

"We're not trying to make you worse, bucko. Father Steele actually asked me to send you his apologies. He left, but he said there'd be someone else to sit with you."

"Is it Harley?" Jo hadn't meant to sound that desperate, but from the way Officer Ren's eyes dodged his gaze at the question, he already knew the answer before he got it.

"He's sitting in another room right now. But we have someone else who really wants to see you." Ren patted his back, then gestured to the door. "Let's head on back. The detective will probably be with you all in a minute."

'You all.' More than one? Jo's head was stuck on that, so he hardly noticed that Ren hadn't handcuffed him, but just walked half of a step behind him as he escorted him back to the interrogation room. When he opened the door, the room was more like a party than the spit-roast these rooms usually were. Someone had pulled another chair in to let Ken and Lily sit with Gage, with Ken conveniently keeping the two apart. A spread of convenience store bags and juice bottles decorated the thin steel table. Gage hopped up when the door opened and took hold of Jo's hands.

"C'mere, Jojo, sit with me!" He dragged Jo over to the chair beside his, as Ren chuckled in the doorway.

"Jojo, huh?"

"It's what my big brother always called me. I actually kind of hate it when anyone else says it," he paused, at a dismayed look from Gage, then set his hand in his hair and gave it a gentle ruffle, adding, "But I'm starting to get over it."

Lily piped up, "You have a big brother, Jojo?" Jo noticed her hugging Ken's arm, and couldn't help a grin.

"Yeah. I think you might know him. He says his name is Dan now." Jo chuckled. "He called me Jojo when I was little, and I..."

"Hey," Ren interrupted from his place, and he stepped in. "Quick question, might sound dumb, but you keep saying Jojo. I thought he was Joe?"

"He is," all but Jo answered, and Ken added, "Joel Sha."

"I usually go by Jo," Jo added, frowning. "J-O. You got a problem with that?"

Ren set his lips in a thin line, then planted his hands on his hips. "When you got arrested, did you introduce yourself as Joel or Jo?"

"I don't remember. Probably Jo."

"Shit. Sorry," he added, his gaze hitting Lily and Gage, before he turned his focus to the ground in thought. "That might actually answer a question we've gotten about you today. Stay put, Detective June will be back with your stuff soon." Ren shut the door, and Gage dug into his sweatshirt pocket.

"Here, Jojo, Dad said he's sorry he made you puke and Harl would be worried if he knew you didn't have any food in your stomach." He held out a sandwich in a plastic baggy - toast and chunky peanut butter from the look of it. Not his favorite, but, hell, anything sounded better than stomach acid right now. Jo unwrapped it and took a big bite, chewed and swallowed, and tried to ignore Ken's gaze. His whole jaw hurt, but he didn't have any better way of getting food into himself. After choking down the first bite, Jo finally turned to face Ken, only for Ken to pass him a bottle of ginger ale.

"You look terrible. I bet you feel worse."

"You read me like a book." Jo grinned, then cracked the ginger ale open. It went flat fast, like it had been shaken a lot a while ago, but Jo didn't think bubbles were a good idea anyway. He took the first sip, then held it up in a mock toast. "You're a lifesaver, man. What brings you here?"

"Like the Officer said, the Detective is reviewing my phone, since it has the files you sent me, as well as records for several dozen phone calls from my stepmother." Ken's wry smile said it all: "I figured now was a good a time as any to catch her on harassment charges while I corroborate your story." He cleared his face, then his throat. "I also owe you an apology for not encouraging you to report that recording sooner. I'm not sure what the police would have done with it, but maybe things wouldn't have gotten as far as they did."

Jo shrugged. "Can't do shit about it now." He heaved a sigh and slumped, stewing in withheld frustration, but Gage suddenly pressed against his side, sitting as close as he could and all but hugging him, but it functioned to prop him up.

"You sure you're okay?" Jo nodded, and Gage huddled into his chest a little closer. Jo let his arm fall down Gage's back.

"Kid, you think something like this'd take me down?" He leaned down and flicked his index finger across Gage's nose. "Remember. Coolest guy you know. This is nothing to me." Gage giggled and started to say something, but the door opened and June strode in. He set Ken's brick of a cell phone down in front of him (the thing looked like it came from the same era as the paint job on his ass-ugly cars), then sank into the last remaining chair. Jo could see bags under his eyes, and his hair was a bit tousled, and as he settled and dragged his fingers through it, then tugged at his own cheeks with his index finger and thumb, Jo figured out why he looked such a mess.

"Mr. Sha." Detective June put his hands on the table. "Mr. Maoh and I were discussing the circumstances of your encounter with Mrs. Maoh and Father Jenning. Everything is checking out."

Ken cleared his throat, his face taut. "I would like to add, for the record, that Joel was a good employee. He was honest when it counted, dependable, rarely got sick, and was all-around a hard worker. It may have been merely to maintain parole, but until the day I had to dismiss him, he was one of my finest." Jo felt those words hit a cold space in his chest, and hunched over a little as if he could block it, but Ken slouched with obvious regret. "He's not the teenager you all arrested eight years ago. Looking at his record is not a clear picture of the man sitting before you. He's a genuinely good man, despite appearances. I wouldn't have fired him if not for my Do-Not-Deliver policy, and I'd rehire him if it wouldn't disincentivize the rest of my employees from following my rules."

"I should ask, what do you mean by Do-Not-Deliver?" June looked past Jo to Ken. Jo drummed his fingers on Gage's back. Watching Ken squirm a little was much easier than being in the hot seat himself.

"It's my way of ensuring my business' safety, and discouraging my employees from using their position to do work with former associates." Ken tried to loosen his own collar again, then laced his fingers in front of him. "I don't deliver to known or suspected criminals or their known associates."

Lily chimed in just then, "Jo delivered to Mama, and that meant giving her our phone number." Ken whipped around to shush her, but she shushed him back. "It's true! That's the only reason Mama's been calling us."

Jo swallowed. "Hey, Lily, sweetie, you gotta know that was an accident."

"P'shaw, you wouldn't do stuff like that on purpose." Lily stuck her tongue out at him. "I know you better than that, Jojo. 'Sides, Kenny said you're the reason Mama's in jail now, so it all worked out in the end!" June stifled a laugh, as Ken twisted his neck and covered his mouth to hide a furious blush. Lily, however, turned back to June. "See, Mama threw me away with Mama Rosie and Kenny when I was little, but after Daddy started to get execution dates, she started to try to get me back." She crossed her arms, pouting in frustrated thought. "I know Daddy's a bad man, so I don't mind not knowing him, but when Mama talks to me, she says she's gonna take me to meet Daddy. I heard Mama Rosie say that Mama was going to parade me out like a show dog and weep about how I'd never met my Daddy, so they couldn't kill him yet, this poor little girl will _never_ know her Daddy if you kill him!" Lily rolled her eyes, and Ken groaned back embarrassment.

"What my mother was saying was-"

"Hush, Kenny, I'm not stupid!" Ken grunted, and Jo imagined Lily had just kicked him under the table. She crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks out in a huge, exaggerated pout. "I'm not stupid. Mama thinks I'm stupid, but I'm not. She probably would try to make me say things about how much I wanna meet my Daddy, like she taught me to act bad to boys and didn't teach me to read. She tried to make me stupid. But I'm not." She eased back, her anger sinking away into sadness, and Jo had never wanted to hug the little brat before, but he sure did now. She sniffled a little. "It might be nice to talk to my Daddy before they fry him, but it doesn't matter that much."

"It shouldn't," Jo interrupted, and Lily looked right at him, eyes wide. "I mean, you have your big bro, yeah? Big bros can be better than moms or dads or anything."

"Yeah," Lily agreed, and her face split into a wide grin. "My big bro's the best!" Ken helplessly smiled as well, but leaned towards June to address him in a private voice:

"Did you need anything further from me?" June shook his head and rose, but Ken turned to Jo as he gathered his and Lily's garbage from the table. "Jo, your friend, he was the tech who repaired my laptop last time, right?" Jo nodded. "He's still here, right?"

"I dunno. If I knew where he was, I'd try to be there, too." Jo drummed his fingers on the table, but Gage tapped his side.

"Dad says he's calming down. He'll be okay."

"He's been calming down for..." Jo trailed off, as he realized he hadn't seen a clock or any sort of timepiece in a while. "Shit, I dunno how long."

"I'll look into it," Ken offered. "I'd like to speak with him about something." With that, June saw Ken and Lily out, and Gage hugged tight onto Jo again. Jo grunted at the impact, but rubbed Gage's head.

"Go easy on me, kiddo, I'm still not feeling so hot."

"I know," Gage whispered, "But I know if Harl were here, he'd wanna hug you, too. I'm just glad they're letting me help."

Jo moved to pry Gage off, but it hurt to lift his arms, so he gave in and let the kid hug all he wanted, until the question hit him: "Hey, kiddo, everyone else has been giving answers I don't know. What do they wanna talk to you about?"

Before Gage could answer, June was swinging the door open again, then dropped a new manila file on the table. Jo barely caught the label on it – "Kamishiro, Justin-" before June settled again and turned the file so that only he could read it. "Mr. Sha, you mentioned the shooting incident at K-One and at the hospital, and all statements made thus far have connected these events to a single shooter. Do you know anything further about the incident?" Jo's face was suddenly ice cold, as was the rest of his skin except for where Gage was touching him.

"Hey, Detective, don't get me wrong, I'll tell ya everything I know, but..." He shot a meaningful look right at Gage. Gage didn't have to see the panicked expression on Jo to scoff and roll his eyes.

"It's not like just hearing about it's gonna scare me. I know what happened, Jojo. Some crazy guy who said he was God tried to kill me twice." Jo felt Gage shift, and he started to swing his legs where they hung off the chair. "I actually don't know too much, though. All I remember is we were having an argument out on the side of the building, and I was yelling at Dad and Harl and Jojo, and then everything hurt a lot and I don't remember anything else."

Jo grimaced, but hell, Gage was already pretty deep. Another inch or two wouldn't pull him under, as buoyant and bubbly as he was. "I only really put the pieces together on that a lot later."

"What pieces? Perhaps I'll come to the same conclusion as you." June took a notepad out, and Jo closed his eyes to concentrate.

"What Jenning said on the tape, about Steele. 'I'll call Uriel.'" He twiddled his fingers together. "I mean, just the combination of hearing that and what happened so soon after, it caught my ear in an instant. But then, when he showed up at the hospital after Gage got out of surgery and all, I just knew in the pit of my gut that it was coming. Doctors at the hospital will probably be able to tell you the same that he was there. The Padre and Harl were there too. Gage, you were there, but-"

"I kinda remember telling him to leave," Gage contributed, and wrinkled his whole face up. "That guy always rubbed me way wrong."

Jo nodded, then sat upright, feeling a lot more confident. "Yeah, so there's that. Plus, there's everything I knew about the Holy Men gang, y'know, same as everyone else. Not much. But I knew that sometimes, guys would just get jumped and wrecked out of nowhere. Then, the night that whacko came to the hospital, I heard the nurses talking about a Med-Evac coming in from a gang massacre down by the docks. I figured the creep played dead and rode in on that after doing what the Holy Men do. Or what that Holy Man did. Finally..." Jo sucked in his cheeks, then sighed them out. "I mean, kid kept saying he was the Holy Man, and then Benny said there was only one, and it was Jenning. He just had people who watched out for him and told him who was acting out of line. I figured Jenning probably sent his kook to shut down anyone who wasn't doing what he wanted. I put it all together that he likely just sort of kept some muscle around to enforce what he wanted so he didn't have to dirty his hands." Jo ran his fingers through his hair. "The creepy kid with the guns was his muscle. He got arrested thanks to the Padre, so when he decided to deal with Shalimar..." Jo swallowed hard, and held his hands up. "You know how that went down."

June hummed, then drummed his fingers on the file. "I do. And the gunman is interesting in his own right. I can't tell you much, unfortunately, as it is a matter of privacy. However, we hope he will be able to be fit to testify against Jenning as well. Your 'clues' pointed you in the right direction. I suppose I must wonder who Uriel is."

"Can't say." Jo folded his arms and bowed his head, trying not to squirm. "I don't think it was Jenning. I think he just calls whoever's wearing the Holy Man hat that. But Jenning was definitely calling the shots, and for whatever reason, he only wanted to scare the Padre. I mean, if you look at where we were all standing when..." He found his gaze trailing over to Gage again, who shrugged.

"I said it was okay, Jojo. I know I got shot."

"Yeah, well." Jo snorted and hunched in his chair. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out he could'a shot the Father, but he aimed for the kid. Jenning must'a made it clear just who he wanted dead." June's gaze raked over Jo, and Jo shivered, because he could feel it. He had no way of knowing whether or not June really believed him, or if he was just throwing spitballs at concrete and hoping to make a dent. June, however, opened the file, made a few notes, then stood up.

"I'll be back." He strode out, but before he even shut the door, Gage tugged Jo's sleeve and whipped out a pair of juice boxes and two mandarins from his jacket pocket.

"Wanna share these with me?"

God love the kid, he was a good distraction. He gave Gage an appreciative smile, the brightest he could muster. "Thanks, kiddo."

Somewhere between peeling the fruit and jamming the straws in, Gage had started to babble. "I was havin' fun with the cops, because they're all my friends, but Dad said you were all shook up and he was scared he'd upset you more so he didn't wanna stay."

"He told you that?"

"No, he didn't say that, but I know that was what he meant." Gage grinned knowingly and winked in a way he could have only learned from Jo. Jo nodded, then hesitantly took a few bites of his mandarin. "You still look like a soda bottle someone shook up, like you're just gonna pop and go flat."

"Yeah?" Jo smirked and set his shoulders back to keep them away from his ears. "Well, they're asking a lot of tough questions, and answering 'em is basically like signing a confession." His stomach started to turn again at the thought, but he shook it back and grimaced at the empty orange peel. "But I knew it'd be hard. It's the right thing to do, though. I've tried to be a bad guy, and it hasn't worked. I'm not cut out for it." He chuckled, and Gage giggled too.

"You're doing good at being a good guy! I saw Harl, he said for me to tell you he was super impressed!"

"You saw him?" Jo nearly threw himself over the table, but he caught himself and realized his heart was racing. He settled back again, and noticed Gage slouching down and avoiding his eyes. "Where is he?"

"He's having quiet time with that Dan guy you said was your brother. He made me go away too, 'cause he's waiting for his meds to be working a little better. He called his psychiatrist and he told him he could take his dose early, so hopefully he'll be calmer soon." Gage reached over and nudged Jo's shoulder. "I know it's different, having me or him, so I won't be mad you'd rather have him here."

"No offense meant, kid." He hung his head. "Just, it's easier with him around. I mean, having him listen and not hate me for the stuff I've done and being wrapped up in it, it makes me feel less terrible."

"'Cause he loves you," Gage contributed, then snickered when Jo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Dad told me you guys were in love and stuff, like, boyfriend-and-girlfriend love. Or, I guess it's boyfriend-and-boyfriend love?" Gage rubbed his chin and raised his gaze in thought, then shrugged. "But I knew you loved him and he loved you anyway. So, it's like talking to you and Harl is good, 'cause I love you, but talking to Dad is best 'cause I love him most, and all of that is better than talking to people you just like or sorta don't." Gage tapped his fingers together in thought. "But I guess I know what you're thinking. If he's listening to you about the hard stuff, and he still loves you even if you did bad things, then you know you're not bad."

Even to Jo's tired mind, that was muddily put together, but it made perfect sense. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He set his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, as Gage clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Jojo, he didn't leave 'cause you did bad things! He left 'cause he started seeing scary things and he didn't want you to have to watch him freak out."

"You missed something, kiddo." Jo groaned and ground his knuckles against his forehead. "I would give anything to go watch him freak out. I haven't seen him in I dunno how long, and I'm worried."

"You don't have to be worried. He's okay, and he wants-" The door opened all of a sudden, and June was in the doorway with Dan hovering at his back.

"Gage, Father Steele would like to speak with you." Gage stuck his lower lip out, but pushed himself to his feet. June motioned for Gage to pass him, as Gage threw Jo one last reassuring smile, and Dan sidled past him and took his seat just as June shut the door again.

"Hey, little bro, it's been a long day, huh?" Dan leaned over the table with a big, winning smile, and Jo instantly felt a weight off of his chest.

"You have no idea. Hey, if you're here, how's-"

Dan waved a hand. "Harley's just getting some food in him. I've been with him for the past few hours."

"Hours?" Jo was momentarily dumbstruck, until he realized he had no idea how long he'd been there; it could have been days for all he'd known. Dan merely nodded.

"You've been here six hours. It's dark out now." Dan clapped his hand on Jo's shoulder. "But hey, all for a good cause. The other detectives have been talking to your friends in turn, and between you and me, you've really shaken this place up. There's a lot of activity out there." He gave Jo a slap on the back, and Jo doubled over from the impact. "You're doing good!" Jo groaned, unable to straighten up, and Dan leaned forward. "Hey, you okay?"

"I... I _hurt_ ," Jo confessed, then tugged the collar of his tee. Dan's jaw fell as Jo revealed the bruises under his neck. "The Father and Harl looked me over, and they don't think I broke anything." It dawned on him just then that everyone who'd seen him today had been gaping at or even mentioning how terrible he looked, and the more he thought about it, the more everything was starting to hurt again. "My ribs ache, and my head got knocked something fierce." He lifted his shirt to examine his own bruises, his eyelids sagging as he looked himself over, but when he turned back up to face Dan, it was to familiar sadness – hell, downright despair from Dan, his every bright feature drooping, his face falling.

"Aw, Jojo. Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

Jo summoned the same answer he'd had all day. "This's way more important."

"It could'a waited a day." Dan pushed his hand up into Jo's hair, but Jo felt him grope across his scalp and find the bump on the back of his skull. That wrought the other answer out of Jo:

"Yeah, I ain't got insurance no more, either. It's okay-"

"Like hell it is!" Dan withdrew his hand from Jo's hair, only to pound his fist on the table, and Jo flinched. "Quit feelin' sorry for yourself just because you're in a police station and hurt! Ken'll cover your insurance, and even if he doesn't, I'll pay whatever any quack doctor tries to charge you!" He huffed out a breath, then slung his arm around Jo's shoulder. "All your medical bills, baby brother, I got this."

Jo didn't even notice how he'd instinctively leaned into Dan's touch, his every muscle yearning for his brother as if they hadn't been apart, only to realize how long it had really been. How much bigger Dan was, yet how he still looked smaller now that Jo had grown up too. "Bro, you don't have to."

"Yes, I do! Shit, do you know what I'd do for you?" Dan's arm tightened briefly in its hold around Jo, but he released just as swiftly, as if Jo were fragile and delicate. Hell, maybe he was right now. Jo briefly wondered why, but had no time to think as Dan planted his hand on Jo's head just to twist his face towards him. "You know how long I've wanted to have you back?"

Jo twisted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he were small. He wasn't, and he knew it, and he found the guts to say, "Damn shame it's only today." He shivered, and found himself wallowing back in the memories of loss that had haunted him like the ghosts he didn't believe in. "Bro... what if I have to go back?"

"Hey, you won't." Dan took hold of both of his shoulders. "And even if you do, I'll call every week and visit every visitation day. I didn't have you for more than ten years, I'm gonna make up for lost time." He squeezed Jo's shoulders – his fingers were shaking. He put on a brave face, and his hands settled against Jo's arms. "You're my whole world."

"C'mon, that ain't fair to you." Jo tried to shake him off and draw himself up tall. "Or your friends. They've taken good care of you, right?"

"Well, yeah, sure." Dan actually smiled a little, half-exhausted, smile, but shook his head. "I love them too, but it's you. I just..." He sighed, and dropped his cheerful facade, his head dropping. "I failed you. I'd like to make up for that."

Jo felt a pang of guilt squeeze all of his insides, and stretched a hand out to touch Dan's shoulder. "Bro, you... you couldn't help it..." Before he could go on, the door flew open again, and both Dan and Jo jumped out of their conversation as June entered, this time with a stack of files.

"I apologize for interrupting the family reunion, but Mr. Sha, I'd like to ask about the robbery you turned yourself in on."

Jo felt like he was being crushed by granite blocks sat between Dan and June, and watched his own trembling fingers as he retold the events of the night. "I was just the watchman." He wasn't sure how many times he repeated that. "I don't know what happened inside. I just saw them go in and out, but I helped, and I..." He chewed his lower lip as Dan hid a wince. "I can't tell you much about who was there, because they didn't give me their names."

"American Reload, was it?" June had rifled through to a file, and Jo noticed an amused smirk coloring his features. Either his exhaustion had wrested some of his tight control back, or there was something genuinely funny in front of him, and Jo watched him expectantly for a hint of which it was. "We don't need the names there. Funny." He waved the manila folder in his hand. "See, the American Reload job was nine-tenths of the way to a perfect crime, but one idiot messed it up for everyone. What a shame."

Jo and Dan traded surprised expressions, and Dan whipped back around to June. "What happened?"

June smothered a chuckle and laced his fingers in front of his mouth as if he could cover a smile. "As Mr. Sha said, the outside cameras were cut, and someone, likely Benjamin Rihan, took the computers, but he didn't disable the store's remote server. The inside cameras were rolling, and we have identified all of the men who were actually in the store. I wouldn't have known you were involved had you not admitted it." June rubbed his chin, and Jo pressed his eyes into his palms.

"Well, shit." Something hit him. "Did you get the driver?"

"Ah." June took up his pen. "We did not. Can you give me anything?"

Jo summoned every bit of information he could give: "The car. Burgundy Volkswagen sedan. Early 2000's or late 90's. Ugly as sin, bumper's rusted off. No plates. I didn't see the driver much, but he was bald." June scribbled notes down.

"That's excellent." In June's sedate tone, that sounded like high praise. "If nothing else, we know what to look for."

June departed again, and Dan nudged Jo's shoulder. "Okay, what'd you get for doing it?"

Whatever levity June's compliment had brought was pushed back, and the heavy feeling came crashing back down around Jo. He pulled himself into his chair, shrinking back from Dan. "He gave me money. He even complained about how it was easier when I was little and he could just give me food."

Jo couldn't decide whether to feel satisfied or guilty that he'd knocked Dan off of his high horse with that last detail, but looking at Dan's crestfallen expression helped him decide. "Aw, Jojo." He shook his head, then tugged his chair a little closer. "So, what'd you do with the money?"

"I tried to give it to Harl, so he could buy his meds. He saw right through it. You know how smart he is." Jo laughed weakly, then found himself at Dan's elbow. "I tried to give it to the Father. He saw through me too and chewed me out. I ended up depositing the cash and wiring it to pay his courier bill."

"Oh, baby bro." And like that, Jo was under Dan's arm again. "You tried to do the right thing."

"I know, right?" Jo groaned and slumped, his elbows splaying until his face was flat on the table. Dan's arm still weighed heavy on his back, his jacket wafting some sort of cheap cologne. "I mean, I just wanted him to be healthy. He just got so mad at me that I did it, and I got mad right back 'cause I felt like he was rejecting me, and then everything that had me freaked out just took over my brain, and I hurt him. I didn't see him for a while after that, but without him around, I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Neither did he." Dan patted Jo's back, and Jo twisted his neck to look up at him. "I saw him a few days after you had that argument. He didn't tell me much about it, he only gave me all the details today." Jo groaned, because that meant Dan likely knew _all_ the details. He didn't dare ask, and Dan sure as hell didn't volunteer the information. Instead, he ran a hand down Jo's back. "I think he gave up on his medicine because a world without you was one he wasn't interested in living in. He preferred the world where he saw your shadow, even if that was the same world that had steel beams melting in a rainstorm and skeletons crawling out of the ground. He couldn't take a world without you with a clear head."

"Dammit." Jo's throat tightened. "If I'd known he'd felt... fuck." He dropped his forehead back down. "I'm so tired. Why won't they just arrest me and get it over with?"

Dan's hand moved up and into his hair, then down and through the strands. "You're okay. It's gonna be okay. When we're done-" Jo moaned and drowned the rest of his empty soothing out.

"Why'd it take so long for you to find me? It's not fair, we barely even got any time and they're gonna take me away again..."

To Jo's surprise, Dan laughed. "Quit whining, you're not nine anymore. As for why I couldn't find you, funny story on that." Jo lifted his face again, and Dan sat back in his chair, his whole chest heaving as he chuckled. "You gave your name as Jo Sha, just the way you did as a kid, right? You said Jo, they heard J-O-E Joe, and I bet you didn't spell it out for them because you were pissed and fuck those guys, huh? You got put into the system as Joseph Sha." Jo felt the blood drain from his face, and couldn't help a weak snicker into his hands.

"Man, Yana must've been confused."

"She fixed it in her file, she told me. Plus, I told the detectives here they had it wrong. I said I'd show them your birth certificate." Dan slapped Jo's back, still grinning. "Hell, baby bro, I have your birth certificate, your Social card, everything. I bet they gave you a new one we're gonna have to put together with the government 'cause they didn't ask you your full name to be sure they were arresting Joseph Sha, and they could've solved a Missing Person case years ago!"

Jo wished he could have found it funnier, knowing he could have been released to Dan and ended up living with Ken and Lily, and not in jail, but at the same time, he would have never met Harley. Dan, however, slapped his back again, and leaned down so Jo could meet his eyes. "But we're gonna reconcile everything when we get home. I'll make the phone calls and go wherever I have to go to fix this. I'm here for you. I'll take you and your boyfriend home and take care of the both of you." Dan slid his hand across the table towards Jo's face, and Jo realized that his eyes were watering.

He would have tried to smother them back, but it didn't matter. He was so tired he could sleep, so exhausted from talking and being exposed, and so desperate to just see the person he wanted to be better for, he didn't bother.

Jo wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, with Dan's arm across his back and his head down, when the rhythm of footsteps sounded faintly through the thick walls. The door opened again, and Jo still had his cheek in a puddle of wet when Dan tapped his shoulder. "Hey. I gotta run, but I'm going to be waiting out front. Pep up, okay?" Dan's hand slid off as he rose, and Jo lifted his face to watch Dan swagger towards the door. Jo saw June's shadow in the bright light, but when he entered, another silhouette remained embossed in the bright white from outside. Hope surged through him, dried his eyes, and pushed him right to his feet.

"Harley!" He grinned and rushed past June to catch Harley by the hands. "How're you feeling?" He pulled him close, as if he hadn't seen him for years and feared it might be decades before he saw him again. Jo didn't want to say he was a sorry sight, but Harley looked almost as wrung out as Jo felt. He didn't tell him that. He was just happy to look at him, and the way Harley was taking him in told him he very much felt the same.

"I'm fine. I've just finished a very interesting conversation with your former employer about a business that he recently acquired, after spending no less than five hours with your brother."

Jo found that his roguish grin hadn't been smothered by the stifling room. "Oh? I figured you wouldn't wanna chit-chat with him in your spare time."

"Ah, but that doesn't account for staving off the ill effects of withdrawal from my medicines. We weren't talking so much as..." Harley rubbed his lower lip, his eyes dipping down in a way that told Jo he was genuinely thinking. "I suppose, in all honesty, he was talking to me. Keeping me grounded."

Jo slung his arm around Harley's shoulders and rested his palm on the back of his neck. "Next time, I'll talk you down, babe."

"I could never ask that of you, my fragile metal state isn't your respo-"

"Excuse me." Both Harley and Jo were broken from the reverie of their reunion, to see June standing with his back to the closed door, arms crossed. "I had hoped to speak with the pair of you." Harley nodded, and Jo felt him slide his fingers into the spaces in between his and tug him down. They sat, June sat and heaved a sigh filled with the dust of his weariness. "I must ask the two of you to recall the events last night, to the best of your understanding and recollection."

Jo, feeling energy and confidence again, threw a cocky grin on and planted his hand over Harley's on the table. "Well, Detective, I'm gonna be straight with ya..."

Harley and Jo took turns, each adding in where the other left off. Harley fully explained sneaking around to confront Jenning and Genie Maoh, and Jo was able to explain how he got through the crowd. June was as content as a daruma to listen, stonefaced and motionless, as they took turns and got through to the morning. When they finished, June took a deep breath, then drove his fingers into his hair. "Off the record," he muttered, "What you two did was incredibly stupid and risky."

Jo waited for the old trope follow up, "but we're grateful you did it," but no, June rose to a stand. "Wait here. Both of you." He departed, and Jo immediately turned in his chair to face Harley.

"Hey, what time is it?"

"Based on the last clock I saw and how long that took, nearly eight. You've been in here for seven hours."

"Jesus Christ."

"He'd be proud of you." Harley squeezed Jo's hand. "I know for certain that I am. Now, how are you feeling? You asked me, dutiful friend you are, but you've been in here, being interrogated, while I-"

"Needed to take care of yourself." Jo clasped Harley's hand. "What you were saying before – that's bullshit, babe, your head is definitely my responsibility. Good fucking God-"

"Dear me, no, don't say that; I'll get tremendously jealous." Harley winked, and Jo laughed.

"You fucking son of a bitch." Harley had never thought such immense warmth and affection could be poured into those words, but when it was Jo, it made such perfect sense. "Seriously. I like your head here, with me. How are you?"

Harley gathered himself, edging incrementally closer to the warmth of Jo's chest and half-hanging out of his seat. "I'm alright now. Your brother pinned me down in a single-stall bathroom, wrapped me in a tight blanket, and counseled me through my panic. At his behest, I spoke with my doctor, and he promised he would pay for any charges."

"Jeez, ol' Dan's sure got an open wallet for a guy who used to steal my pocket money."

"I said something along those lines. He said that Ken had already promised to buy him the high-quality tuna if he ran out of grocery money." Harley giggled, then tipped his head against Jo's shoulder. "But my doctor said if I stay back on my medicines, the episodes should fully subside within a week, but depending on my personal mental state, it may take a little longer, so not to worry."

"Don't worry, huh?" Jo broke eye contact; he would rather lose himself into the concrete rather than see Harley disappointed with him again. "Hey, if everyone's wrong and I do have to go back to jail, are you gonna be okay?"

"Joel-"

"If it happens, babe. You know it might." Jo squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want you losin' yourself again. I don't like losing people, Harl."

"I know." Harley carded his fingers into Jo's hair. "But you won't, and I won't lose myself. After all, they can't keep you in prison forever." He tugged, not harshly, but just enough to make Jo turn his head and meet his eyes, and Jo felt Harley slip a knee between his and heard his chair faintly scrape closer. "I'll come to see you. I'll fight Dan for the privilege if I must. I'll call you, I'll write letters-"

Jo couldn't help himself. "Poetry?"

Harley's smile took on that sweet, warm quality that told Jo how very real his pleasure was. "Volumes."

The door handle clicked, and both Harley and Jo turned, bracing themselves for Detective June to enter again, but he did not. Instead, a mousy-looking, gray-haired man in a plain but disheveled suit edged his way in, glancing at both Harley and Jo from the door. "Joseph Sha? Or, is it Joel?"

Both Harley and Jo answered, "Joel."

"How embarrassing." The man in the suit closed the door and seated himself. "Your record has read 'Joseph' for the last seven years. I conferred with Miss Nenevich, she stated that you did introduce yourself as Joel, but the change must not have made its way back here. I assure you, the error has been corrected." Jo felt those words like a shot of nausea to the gut, but Harley's grip on his hand tightened. The man gestured to his own chest. "I'm the Assistant District Attorney for this precinct. My name is John Roger Shin." Jo noticed that he pronounced it 'Ro- _jaaay_ ' like a fruit, but kept the thought to himself. Harley, however, leaned in with interest.

"Ah, you must be in the same boat as Detective Lejeune. Forgive my assumption; you've some ancestry in French missionaries, I take it?"

"Forgiven." Shin waved a hand. "Lejeune and I are cousins, believe it or not. My mother is his father's aunt." He chuckled warmly, then turned his focus back towards Jo. "But the pleasantries will have to wait. I've had a busy day, and you're not even my last visit for the evening. The arrests from the protests and the multitude of petty crime last night has kept me running from station to station." Shin wiped his brow. "But I've been briefed on everything that occurred with you today, and given summaries of all of your most significant testimony." His pleasant demeanor seemed more genuine when Shin sat forward, hands laced on the table. "You've been incredibly cooperative, Mr. Sha, and you've given us a great deal of information, most of which we have since been able to corroborate. In fact, we've even identified the driver in the robbery case. He identified you in return, but of course, you've admitted your involvement." Shin's smile didn't shake, but Jo's stomach did. Harley's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed, then tugged him a little closer to whisper into his ear:

"Does he look at all familiar to you?"

Jo looked again, only to notice there was something very familiar about the man's sloppy gray hair and wrinkled jacket, the put-upon wrinkles clear in his brow. The pair of them communicated silently with a few nods and shared glances, as Shin continued, "However, you've been very cooperative, as I said." Shin gestured, as Jo nodded urgently towards him, but Shin didn't seem to notice their antics. "Your parole officer stated that you've been excellently behaved, your former employer stated that he'd rehire you if it weren't against company policy, and it seems you did the things you did with good intentions in the end."

"I've seen him before, I know it," Jo hissed to Harley. Shin, of course, droned on pleasantly.

"You do know what they say about good intentions, of course." He chuckled as if that were witty, but if it was, Jo had no idea how. "But rather than following them down the darkest path, you were able to turn yourself around, and frankly, despite my line of work, I do my best to believe in the good in all people, and that nobody is irredeemable."

Jo and Harley were too busy trading glances and looking back and forth between Shin and each other. They were both so sure they knew him, they could tell just from the mutual eyebrow wiggles and mouthed words half-comprehended, but Shin didn't notice their antics. "In light of the circumstances, given your cooperation, your long record of good behavior both on parole and while incarcerated, and-" He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar, and both Jo and Harley shot their focus straight to him. His brow was knit with discomfort as he went on, "Well, other circumstances, I intend to..." Jo and Harley got it at once, and both spoke:

"Have Mercy."

Shin's face blushed bright red, as Jo wondered just how much trouble he'd get in if he called the poor guy 'Johnny,' but then he actually heard what Shin had said. "You mean..."

"Er, I'm not going to charge you. Either of you." Harley grabbed Jo's hands, and Jo scrabbled to grab him right back, their fingers twining and grasping as the reality of Shin's declaration set in. Shin composed himself and smiled evenly across the table. "Just, do make your parole meetings from here on, and follow the conditions thereof, and get back on track. You seem like a good man, Joel Sha. I'd hate to see a decent young man like yourself in the clink over mistakes." He rose to a stand and extended a hand across the table. "It's been a pleasure."

Jo, his whole body shaking, rose to take it and couldn't even shift to shake it, only to squeeze. "Thank you," he choked, his voice high and tight, and Shin beamed.

"You deserve mercy and more."

Jo had never wanted mercy more, or believed more that such a thing even existed.

* * *

It had gotten dark out in the hours they'd spent in the police office waiting room, occupying the benches as they waited for news of what had happened to Jo. Gage had a small throng of police officers seated around him, making small talk to keep him from drowsing in place, as both Father Steele and Ken carved away at the stacks of paperwork they'd brought with them. Steele looked up every few minutes to ensure Gage hadn't fallen asleep in place, then delved back into his work. After a while, however, when he lifted his head, he noticed a specter near the door. A gaunt, tall, beautiful woman, reminiscent in many ways of a sleek Mustang but in many different ways merely a dark horse, was waiting near the door, her purse clasped in front of her thighs and a man's jacket folded over her arms, her breasts on prominent display in a shirt that barely buttoned, and her gaze settled squarely on Gage. It took him a few blinks to recognize her as a prostitute he'd seen walking the blocks near the mission, one who was known to be intersex, and a frown creased his face. Let a whore be a whore, but that se hadn't even tried to look as if se wasn't staring at Gage was too much for him. He threw his pen down and marched over to hir, and hir gaze finally broke away from Gage and settled mildly onto him.

"Long time, no see, Father." Se winked. "Or do you avoid me like Jojo does?"

Steele scowled, not sure how to answer, but se spared him the trouble and pinched his cheek. "You look so much like the previous Father Steele. Not the face, but it's in your eyes, clear as day."

"Who the hell are you?" Steele smacked hir hand away, his shoulders hunched and his back tensed.

Se extended a hand, which Steele refused to take. "The name's Mercy. I've seen you around, but I don't think we've ever had the pleasure." Se smiled broadly and set hir hand on hir hip, hir voice smooth and even. "Relax, I'm not here on business. I'm just here to give my boyfriend a ride." Se jerked her head towards the back wall, the interrogation rooms and holding cells. "He's been driving all around the city, and he's dead tired."

"I don't believe you," Steele snapped back. "If you're going to make cow eyes at him, you'd best be aware he's twelve, and sick-"

"The sweet little boy?" Se looked taken aback, then pulled hirself back into a laugh. "Gracious, what kind of girl do you take me for? Darlin', I know how old he is."

"Excuse me, Miss?" Both Steele and Mercy turned to see that Gage had broken away from the police officers, and now stood staring at Mercy. Gage's eyebrows knit up, his jaw working as he puzzled over hir face with wonderment. "Hey... Miss... do I know you?"

Mercy turned on hir heel, hir features softening, and crouched down to meet Gage's eyes. "I dunno." Se smiled with humor in hir brow. "You don't look like any of my clients. Do you recognize me?" Gage started to nod, then shifted into a little shrug. "Hmm. I don't think I know you. But I'll tell you what." Se wrapped hir hand over his, tilting hir head with thought as se studied his eyes. "Do you believe in past lives? I do." Se squeezed his hand. "Maybe we knew each other in a past life, and there's a little of that old life still looking out and recognizing me from then."

Gage's face split into a wide, excited grin. "You think?" Steele rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about not giving him crazy ideas, but Mercy ignored him and leaned in closer.

"I think so, yes. And if it is true, then let me say to that past life..." Se paused and caught his focus, then held his gaze tight and said: "I'm grateful I met you. I'm so terribly happy I got to meet you again now. It delights me to know that you're living happily. Please, live as full and a big a life as you can." Se tentatively extended a hand to touch his cheek, and helplessly added, "You deserve a life in the sun."

Gage's eyes widened like satellite dishes, and se barely heard him whisper, "I remember you now." He hurled himself against hir chest, and se caught him with a soft grunt, but captured him in a deep hug. Steele seemed to realize something as well, and when Gage finally released hir, he tapped hir shoulder.

"Did you want to have a conversation with me?"

"Gabriel, darling." Se turned around, still smiling. "I'll send you a letter."

There were footsteps behind them, and Steele saw a flustered looking man with disheveled gray hair hurrying towards them. "Ah, you did come!" His sagging features brightened with delight as se turned from Gage and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

"I told you I wouldn't, didn't I? I play around, but I make good." Se wrapped his jacket around his shoulders, then looped hir elbow into his. Se wiggled her fingers over hir shoulder at Gage and Steele as se escorted him out, Steele still frowning, Gage with his hands clapped over his mouth.

Before either of them could speak another word, there was the familiar noise of someone they knew clearing their throat, and Steele, Gage, and all the others who had gathered to help Jo turned to see he and Harley standing at the edge of the waiting area, Jo with an arm slung around Harley's shoulders and a broad grin on, and Harley looking as genuinely pleased as anyone had ever seen him.

"Hey," Jo said first, raising a hand in greeting, and released Harley to stagger a step towards all of them. "I'm a free man." Nearly every face moved to smile, but for Steele, but as Jo took another step towards the rest of them, his smile faltered, and his hand dropped. "Can someone get me to the hospital?" And with that, he collapsed into an unceremonious heap of long limbs and tangled hair, and Harley chased him down, diving to his knees with a horrified gasp.

As they all had that day, Jo's friends and allies gathered around to help once more. Even unconscious, he was smiling, because he knew he'd won with a straight flush.


	36. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Harley have a second chance.

**34: Second Chances**

As it turned out, "mental rest," as the phrase applied to recovering from a concussion, meant more than a single night's good sleep, and a day of interrogation was precisely in opposition to healthy, smooth recovery from even a mild head injury. "It's just a damn shame it took 'em two X-rays and three days in the hospital to figure that out," Jo managed to joke as the doctor left him alone with Harley, and Harley granted him the grace of a giggle and patted his hand.

Those three days in a hospital room were probably as much a grace period as anything else could have been. The riots and protests had continued, even after the announcement of the arrest and arraignment of the woman who'd falsely summoned the police on Zack Ro, identified now as Eugenia Katerina Maoh, and had even briefly worsened with the announcement that a plot to break Guan Maoh from prison had been foiled, coinciding with the arrest of almost three hundred known or suspected gang members. Jo had watched the drama unfold on the twenty-four-hour news cycles from a lumpy air mattress in a recovery room in Mercy Square Hospital, wishing he had popcorn. As it was, he tore up one of the cheap napkins for confetti in honor of Neil Jenning's walk to the courtroom, dressed all in orange and looking better than Halloween. Harley had only left his side when forced, and on the two nights when the protests were close to the hospital, nobody dared force him to walk home. Dan came in the evenings, and Gage called at least twice a day. Avoiding the nightmare outside in favor of sixty hours of rest and a whole lot of Tylenol seemed like an incredibly fair deal.

The time had come, though, for both of them to get on with their lives. With the official report that Jo's brain was fine and though his ribs were bruised, none of them had cracked, Jo was hauling himself from the bed on his own power for the first time in three days. He lifted his arms over his head to stretch in front of the window, basking in the sun for a luxurious moment, as Harley looked on with appreciation clear in his gaze. Jo caught him at it, and grinned at Harley's sheepish expression as he tried to pretend he hadn't been looking.

"So," Jo started, firming up from the light conversation the two had maintained over the last three days. "What happens now?"

"Simply, we have been given a second chance. I intend to make the most of it." Harley tucked his hands into the folds of his elbows. "I should mention that your former employer has offered me a management position at Extreme Dataflow. He intends to handle the books through his accountants and the like, but he wants me to handle the work and some of the business. I'll have to ask him if he's finished drawing up the paperwork, but I'll technically be a contractor through him. Meaning, I'll have my health insurance back." He smiled secretively, a pleased blush painting his cheeks. "I also have to have a very serious conversation with Dan about getting my scholarship reinstated and getting my college degree."

"I got all my hopes on you, guy." Jo took up the bag left on the chair by the window and slung it over his shoulder, then faced Harley, his chest close to his. "So, you think there's, uh, room for a boyfriend in that second chance of yours?"

"I'm afraid not. You see, there's already a delightful life partner in it which the rest of it revolves around." Harley smiled and put his hand over Jo's. "Unless you prefer to be called 'boyfriend,' of course."

Jo could feel that his smile was too wide at that, wobbling from being stretched so far, and the thrill of delight he got from Harley's hand on his at his hip was almost intoxicating. "I dunno. That life partner thing sounds like some Star Wars stuff. I thought boyfriend might be a little gay, but... hell, here we are."

"So we are." Harley squeezed his fingers, then lifted his hand towards his lips. He stopped short, his eyelashes flitting up to let him meet Jo's eyes. "May I?"

"Sure." Jo nodded, and Harley kissed his fingers. Just like Harley had promised, they were going at the pace at which Jo felt safe, and Harley asked permission before trying any new gesture of affection. He had lots of them, and Jo felt like a little child experiencing every single one of them, bashful and flushed. He had no idea how anonymous sex could be so easy and meaningless, then come around to find mild romantic gestures so thrilling.

Then again, the whole world seemed a little bit brighter now. The October sunlight was warm on his face and chest. Harley's expression was clear and focused, his smile pure, and his eyes were as vibrantly green as they'd ever been. As Harley carefully released Jo's hand, Jo caught him by the palm and squeezed. "You didn't ask what I was going to do now."

"Oh? And would you care to share?"

Jo, of course, grinned through his embarrassment. "Not a clue. But I'm gonna do it with you with me, so it's gonna be awesome."

Harley giggled and twined his fingers with Jo's. "You just wanted an excuse to use that cheesy line."

"You know it." Jo tossed his head back, then moved his hold on Harley's hand to his hip and tipped his head to the side. Harley reciprocated, moving in to let their mouths meet, until a cough from the door broke the two from their focus on each other.

"If you're getting discharged," Steele grumbled to the pair of them, as they froze, their faces kept apart by just a slender wisp of air, "then you have to leave the hospital. That doesn't mean dismembering the innocence of anyone who walks by this room as a final farewell."

"Funny, Padre." Jo pecked Harley on the nose, then turned around. "Are you our ride?"

"I am. Get in the wheelchair they left for you, let's get a move on." Steele spun on his heel and strode away, and Harley retrieved the wheelchair and gestured.

"Your chariot." Jo rolled his eyes, but went with it rather than risking being kept in the hospital a second longer.

Harley pushed Jo to the door, but the moment they crossed the threshold, Jo jumped to his feet again and slung his bag over his back. Harley put the chair back and returned to his side, as Jo smiled out across the parking lot, at Gage waving from the shotgun seat of Steele's Mustang, at the skyline of the city. Standing out in the world again felt like being on new ground, and Jo wrapped his hand around Harley's again.

"Today is the first day of the rest of our lives."

They stepped down, shaking off the days and weeks of struggle, towards the car, towards the world, towards the rest of the strange and wonderful thing that they called life.

* * *

The real work started there.

Harley tackled the daunting task of reorganizing Extreme Dataflow, cleaning the office and stripping down all of the shells Zack had been using to get the shop in order. Harley asked Ken if he could paint over the weird computer mural on the side of the building, but Ken insisted the business had to be solvent before they wasted money on redecoration. Jo did what he could to help when he had time, which was mostly lift and carry something heavy, put this there, and no, those are Macintosh parts, let's please keep them separate from the generic Windows parts. It was a little eerie for either of them to have to pass by the alley behind the shop, even though they couldn't see any signs of the misfortune that had come to pass there. Jo found himself holding Harley's hand a tiny bit tighter every time they walked down the sidewalk past the fire escape, faces forward.

Jo spent as much time as he could helping Harley, but true to his word, Ken wasn't paying him. Any sign that his unforgivable crime had been forgiven would have put Ken's standing at risk with the rest of the ex-cons, and with tension still high among ex-gangsters and the disenfranchised, Ken didn't want to risk a mutiny. Jo got it. So, in order to maintain his parole, he took volunteer work at K-One, just like Yana had promised he could. Steele promptly put him to work watching Gage.

"I can't have an eye on him every second, but you can and damn well better," he'd said, before hurrying off to the kitchen where Sana and a crew of volunteers were preparing the first lunch handout in a month. Jo grinned his approval to Gage, and lightly slapped the kid on the back.

"It'll be like Camp Jojo all over again!"

Steele had reopened the shelter a week after the failed jailbreak attempt, having deemed Gage well enough to be around others, albeit not quite well enough for school. A tutor came from the school three days a week, four hours per session, to catch Gage up on the weeks of school he'd missed, but when the tutor was gone, Jo was there and ever happy to keep Gage out of trouble (or at least, in no more trouble than Jo would let him get into). Trips to the library and comic shop were still out of the question, but Jo would play any game Gage wanted, and despite Gage's seeming weak, Jo did what he could to get him moving again.

"I know being stuck in bed and sleeping all the time's got you feeling kinda wimpy," he'd told him after he protested a twenty-lap jog around the courtyard, "But the only way you're gonna get rid of that is by starting to move again. If your surgery wounds start hurting or if you actually get dizzy, stop me, but if you don't try, nobody's gonna do it for ya."

Jo knew Gage had at least one more trip under the knife ahead - his diaphragm muscles were too tangled to fix themselves - but if he went in weak, he'd come out worse for the wear. That was how he justified it to Harley, anyway, when Harley caught him showing Gage how to do chest flies with his "baby weights."

"The kid can handle two pounds, even with his muscles kinda messy," Jo had insisted, but Harley raised an eyebrow anyway. "Look, I can Google it for ya. That dumbbell weighs less than a loaf of bread."

This just got a sigh, and a reluctantly approving smile. "Just be mindful of him."

Jo's heart panged at the thought. "Hey, I take good care of the brat." He turned back around to Gage, observing with a satisfied smile as he pushed the two tiny weights up above his chest. Harley settled back to observe as Jo carefully but enthusiastically guided Gage through a simple and gentle exercise routine.

Despite Harley's work and Jo's volunteering, the two of them still had to make their parole meetings. Dan and Yana obliged, aligning their meeting times exactly and meeting with the two of them as a couple. Harley had wondered at first if this wasn't a violation of their privacy, but Dan explained that they'd had to tell their higher-ups about the relationship between Jo and Harley after both Dan and Yana went to bat at the police station for them. "Our supervisors were concerned that the two of you might be more trouble together, but there's nothing in either of your paroles preventing you from being involved romantically with another parolee. However, since we all know each other, the head of the parole department suggested we take the two of you into meetings together."

Yana had giggled and added, "Think of it as couples' counseling!" Jo had groaned. Still, the joint sessions made talking about his progress immensely more bearable. It also helped that he was actually making progress, or at least making change, for the first time in three years. He could talk to Yana and Dan about the mild frustration of adjusting to a new situation, and both of them offered him guidance.

"It's like," he'd said, after a few weeks of trying to get used to calling himself Harley's boyfriend, "looking into a mirror and not really seeing me. But still being weirdly happy about it." They always sat together in Yana's office, side-by-side in the oversized arm chair and barely squeezing in, as Dan and Yana faced them in Yana's office chair and the chair Jo had occupied before, respectively, and Jo found it easiest to look between the two of them. "I mean, I like it, but I'm not sure if I should."

"Trust your feelings," Yana said, leaning forward in her chair as Harley patted Jo's hands between his. "You're still used to looking at yourself in a certain way, seeing yourself as having to be a certain way. This is a huge adjustment. Outside of your personal dissonance, how do you feel about your relationship?"

"Oh, hell, it's great." Jo didn't hesitate, didn't have to think about it. "I wake up every morning and my best friend is there and in love with me and nagging me to put on clean socks and making me breakfast. And then he kisses me goodnight and tells me he'll see me in the morning, and he's there." Jo found himself grasping at Harley's hands and wrists for purchase, like he was slipping away even though he knew for certain he wasn't. "I... I always know he's gonna be there. That makes it all fine for me. See, he's perfect. I'm the weird one."

"Joel," Harley had tried to scold, but it didn't work.

"Then," Dan cut in, stifling Harley's flushing, "How about from outside of your relationship? I imagine there was some fear of judgment on your part, Jo."

"I haven't noticed anything." Jo shrugged, his elbow rubbing against Harley's forearm, but Harley held a soft sigh behind lips pressed tight.

"We don't talk to very many people who don't know us well, and they had honestly thought we were romantically involved from the start." He moved in a little closer, his head tucked against Jo's shoulder. "But I do hear people we don't know insult us in languages we don't know. I don't care, but I feel ashamed for..." His gaze drifted towards Jo's leg, his focus tracing the weft of his denims, but Jo patted his back.

"I don't care what they say." Jo slid his hand around Harley's hip and squeezed his side. "I don't understand them, and you're better than any of them anyway."

Their meetings were more than just couples counseling. Yana and Dan also asked Jo about his eventual goals in life. Jo had to answer them honestly: "I don't know."

"I realize that." Yana clasped her hands on her lap, trying hard to appear stern, but it took Dan's crossed arms to really communicate it. "You've just been getting by, because Ken kept you working and the money kept a roof over your head. However, I'm concerned that a lack of purpose might leave you floundering for a foothold in your life even with the steadiness of a good partner. So, I would ask, if you could do anything, what would you do?"

Jo chewed his lower lip, as Harley withdrew to give him space to think. "I dunno. I've never thought about, like, a long-term career." A chuckle burst forth unbidden, and he shook his head. "I guess I really was just gonna ride that fucking bike 'til I croaked."

"So," Dan countered, "What is it you like to do?"

"Uh." Jo scratched his head, feeling oddly small at Dan's question. "I like listening to music. And playing cards. Drinking, sometimes." He shrugged down into his seat. "Uh, I lift weights."

"Oh!" Yana clapped her hands together, bolting upright with a bright smile. "What about personal fitness training?"

Jo scrunched his whole face up. "No offense, but the thought of catering to a bunch of rich old people who don't bother to work out on their own is kind of a turn off."

"It's not just the wealthy." Harley rested his palm on Jo's shoulder, and Jo glanced over to face him. "In fact, I know someone you've been personally training for several weeks now."

"What, Gage?" Jo felt a little dazed – he hadn't thought of it that way. "I mean, I like kids, so it's fine with him, but not a lot of kids need personal trainers."

"No, but plenty of children need physical therapy." Harley lifted his index finger in his habitual way. "I know for certain Gage will see a physical therapist after his next surgery. Many people who have been injured in accidents receive therapy. You've offered to help strength train me, and you've promised to help Gage recover with exercise just the same. Physical therapy is just that, but professionally. I think you may like it."

"Physical therapy," Jo repeated, feeling the words in his mouth. "That... that sounds big. I mean, it sounds good, but big."

"You'd have to go to college." Dan sat back, arms still folded and drumming his fingers on his bicep, but he donned a knowing, thoughtful smile. "I'll look up the exact requirements, but you'll need at least four years of education. I can help you with scholarships and admissions, but you'll have to work for it."

Jo found himself biting his lip again, his shoulders tense and his palm cold, but Harley clasped his hands. "I think you can do it. You're much smarter than you give yourself credit for."

With that, Jo felt resolved. "Maybe I can." He turned his face up towards Yana and Dan. "Do you think you'll be able to help me figure out what I need?"

"Between the two of us?" Yana jostled Dan's arm with her elbow, her smile as bright as summer daisies and even sweeter than the same. "We'll pull you through, one way or another."

After that, Dan and Yana both pulled focus from getting Jo into a new paying job and pushed him towards a career. Six years of school sounded like a lot, but Dan told him, "You're twenty-two now, right? Almost twenty-three? You've got plenty of life ahead of you, and nobody's saying you can't work while you're in school if you're looking to help take care of you and Harley."

Chance Harbor Community College, as it turned out, housed all of the general education programs he would need to get started, and when Jo wasn't actively entertaining Gage, he was under Ken, Yana, and Dan's orders to get his scholarships in order and start studying to begin school again in the spring. Gage would sometimes sit right alongside him as he struggled through essays and scoured every prospective student site in preparation.

"You only went to fourth grade, right?" Gage asked, as Jo grunted and switched tabs to look at a thesaurus again. Gage pursed his lips, then patted Jo on the back and scooted down the bench to give him space. "It's cool you're going to college now. I'm proud of ya!" He hopped to his feet and meandered away, though he didn't miss Jo's self-satisfied smile.

Even he felt like he was finally getting his life together.

His career wasn't the only thing that had changed, but his entire path. Dan and Yana helped him with some of it, but he knew the hardest work to be done to keep the life he'd fallen into, the person he would have given up that life for, was entirely his. Dan and Yana impressed as much on him in sessions where they insisted on taking each man individually.

"Jo, I've been reviewing my notes," Yana began, as Jo swung his legs uncomfortably in the chair that felt too big without Harley's hip flush to his. "You and Harley have been official for... three weeks? Are you still comfortable with that?"

"Of course." He felt small in the shadow of her doubt as he said it, shrinking under her scrutiny, as Yana took a few more notes. "He's the best. I can't imagine being without him."

"Ah. See, I did want to bring that up with you." She ran the pen across her lower lip. "It's come to my attention that you may have something of a fear of being left alone, hence your hesitance to become attached to things." Jo buttoned his lip shut, vacillating between anger and humiliation. He wanted to shout her down for psychoanalyzing him, but it made sense. After a minute of forcing calm, he managed a grin.

"Well, you can say so, but-" He swallowed, grinding his teeth, then drawled in imitation of carelessness, "I wouldn't know what to do about it."

"I could suggest therapy." There was a hint of a sharp edge in her tone now, and Jo realized she was tapping her pen impatiently on her notepad. "I'm not sure you're receptive to it, though." She sucked air in through her nose, then relaxed into her usual genial tones. "However, I want you to remain engaged in the friendships and relationships you have. Do you ever feel concerned that your relationship with Harley is at risk?"

Jo felt his mouth dry completely, but shifted his back against the seat. "No. I... I don't think so. He treats me really well. I guess I mostly worry that he'll decide I'm not worth it."

"I see." Yana tapped her pen to her lip as she thought. "How can you secure yourself in your relationship?"

Jo shifted again, unable to find comfort under those heavy thoughts. "I... I guess... keep being better for him. I could ask him, I guess."

The thing was, Jo was almost certain he didn't have to ask. He knew how Harley felt, how Harley still felt. Harley was exactly as good as his word, everything he'd promised Jo and better. After a week back on his medication, Harley managed full days without having to shut himself in a small room with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and began the work of spoiling Jo the same way he had before. He cared for their tiny apartment with zeal, he made every meal and made everything delicious, and if Haku had learned a new song or two in the meantime, Harley praised every note with an eye over his shoulder to where Jo tried not to whistle along. Harley would rub Jo's shoulders after he worked out with Gage – after asking permission – he would run his thin fingers through Jo's hair - again, after asking permission – and he greeted Jo with a kiss – yet again, asking permission, and damn if Jo had ever consented to someone having so much contact with him. Jo had always been the one touching, reading consent in body language and apologizing if he was wrong, but Harley made damn sure everything was explicit and that Jo was comfortable. Jo, in turn, had never felt so comfortable and natural in a relationship, not since the few years he remembered living with his brother.

Jo had figured out that Harley liked to say "I love you" to him, he could just tell from the little note of music he heard in the words when he whispered it in the morning and as they lay down to sleep at night. However, saying it in words over and over ad infinitum could never match the depth of the sentiment. Instead, Harley said it in sandwiches and stir-fry, in compliments and assured consent, in soft touches and nose kisses, in amused banter, and in the warmth of his smile.

Jo, for his part, tried to be the man that Harley deserved. He kissed back when kissed, he thanked Harley for every favor, every meal and every chore, and even helped when he could. Sometimes he would just wrap his arms around Harley's waist as he washed the dishes and sway against him, humming along with whatever music they had playing on the radio. He did his best to be the same charming jerk that he'd been the day he met Harley, flippant and cool, but it was hard to act like he couldn't give less of a crap about the world so long as he was happy when he cared so much about Harley.

He was the one who asked if he could share the double bed with Harley – "Like, sleeping in. Y'know. Together." It was a tight fit, though Jo didn't care, and so different from falling asleep next to a beautiful woman. Harley didn't have as many pleasant curves and warm, soft places he could put his chin or hands, but he did have a heartbeat that thrummed under his palm when he wrapped his arms around him, and when it was Harley, that beat a good set of tits any day. The curve of his spine fit snugly against Jo's chest and abdomen, and if Jo was being honest with himself, his hair smelled really nice. Best was the sensation that Harley wanted him there, that he would scoot back into his hold, that Jo would wake to find Harley turned around and watching him, then greet him with a good-morning kiss. He knew Harley liked to be held, safe and secure, as much as Jo liked waking up and knowing in an instant that someone smart, funny, and wonderful wanted him alive today.

They went on dates. Jo would "borrow" money (never repaid) from Dan or Steele and take Harley to the coffee shop, or just escorted him on a walk through the park, their hands linked as they watched the falling leaves. Jo felt embarrassed he couldn't offer more, since he knew he was the one with something to prove here, but Harley didn't complain. A little over a month into their new lives, Harley reciprocated:

"November 9th, isn't it?" Jo felt his cheeks burn at hearing the question, a week before, and glanced up to see Harley pouring almond milk into his cereal from the carton and failing to hide a knowing smile. He joined Jo at the table, leaning in towards him and putting his hand over Jo's. "It's a very special day, right? And only three days away. How would you like to celebrate?" He paused, the twinkle in his eye dimming just a little. "How do you normally celebrate?"

Jo's jaw hung open for a moment, but he chuckled and shrugged it back. "I dunno. Normally didn't, y'know? Wasn't worth it. I guess we could get a cake or-" Harley suddenly held a hand up, a bereft look coming over him.

"Please, never tell me you're not worth something. It... it honestly frightens me, when you make statements that tell me how little you value yourself." Jo shrank, feeling oddly chastised, but before he could try to defend himself, Harley clasped his hand. "I know you value yourself, but sometimes, your language choices tell me otherwise, and I'd rather you not start believing the things you accidentally say."

Jo could only mumble a half-hearted, "Sure, whatever you say, babe." He relished Harley clasping his hand a moment longer, before wrapping his other hand around Harley's. "If you really want to celebrate, then, uh... I mean, I know money's tight, but we could have dinner or something. Maybe invite Dan, or Gage, maybe Father Steele, I dunno. Normally I'd just go out, get wasted and get laid, usually in that order. The old 'hey, baby, it's my birthday' line goes over real well for cheap drinks and easy women." He chuckled and fidgeted with his spoon, as Harley cocked his head owlishly, blinking as he thought.

"Were you interested in cheap drinks and easy sex?"

Jo was about to answer, 'Fuck the hell yes,' then rethought it. "Nah. Last time I got drunk was kind of a disaster, and sex... I dunno. Dinner with you and Dan would be fine. Nothing fancy, either. I don't wanna wear a tie."

Harley giggled, then clapped Jo's hands between his. "Anything you want."

Jo was still mulling over Yana's question of how to keep the bonds he had as Dan came to pick them up from their apartment (though he didn't miss the way Dan scowled at their crumbling tenement). It got lost in the simple pleasure of sitting around with all the people he knew at a hibachi joint, and he lost himself in and part of the noise and chatter, the rush of fire and the smell of food cooking right in front of him (nowhere near as good as Harley's, but Harley was relaxing against his arm, so how could he complain?), and it all seemed so effortless. At the end of the night, as they moved to exit the restaurant with Steele already complaining quietly about his stomach and Yana lolling on Ken's arm after one too many bottles of Kirin, until Harley tugged Jo's arm and pointed.

"There's a karaoke bar. Would you like to get a drink with me?"

"You don't drink." Jo chuckled, but leaned towards Harley's touch. "I mean, if you want, we can ask Dan if he wants to hang around a little longer-"

"Dad!" Gage interrupted suddenly, seizing Father Steele's sleeve and yanking it, eliciting a string of annoyed swears. "Dad, I wanna sing a song to Jojo!"

Yana, too, stumbled a step away from Ken, squinting at the bar. "Ooh, karaoke?" She jumped up and down, and Ken, who'd been moving to catch her again, backed away, his cheeks turning pink. "I'd love to! Kenny, Danny, let's go!" Without waiting for either of them, she hooked Ken's arm and grabbed Dan's belt loop and dragged them both in. Gage and Steele followed, with Steele muttering that he'd tolerate it as long as someone got him a drink, but as Jo chuckled and made to follow, Harley tapped his shoulder again.

"I know it's your birthday, but..." He trailed off, biting his lip, then slipped his hand into Jo's and whispered, "Do you think you could sing?" Jo's heart skipped a beat as if it had jumped rails, then clattered back into motion. Harley quickly added, "Only if you want to, and whatever you would like to sing. But I do love your voice." His grip on Jo's hand faltered, but Jo took up the slack.

"I'll feel out the room." He smiled, then pressed his lips to Harley's for a brief moment and led him in.

The dark bar, littered with pleather poufs and loveseats, lit by flashing blue and pink lights, was chintzy, but felt weirdly intimate. Comfortable. Somehow, listening to Yana slur her way through "Ain't No Other Man" and a drunk Steele and ever-eager Gage stumbling through "Summer Nights" (with Steele ruining every lyric), followed up by a more-drunk Steele belting out six Queen songs in a row built the bravery in him to rise and pick a song for the queue. When his turn came, Steele dropped the microphone on the speaker and stumbled off, demanding someone get him a glass of water, and Jo took it up. He looked around the room, seeing nothing but friends, Harley smiling eagerly from the pouf he'd planted himself on. He took a breath, faced the screen, then ignored it and picked up the tune as if it were running through his veins.

_"Wise men say, 'only fools rush in,' but I can't help fallin' in love with you..."_

His heart pounded the whole time, but he somehow made it through. Nobody ridiculed him or stopped him, though Steele mumbled along from his spot, and when he put the mic down, it was to applause. He stumbled off the stage and let his knees buckle, dropping down next to Harley. Harley's eyes were bright with approval, shining against the flashing lights, his smile warm and encouraging, and he kissed Jo's cheek, then his hand. "That was lovely. Won't you teach Haku that one, too?"

After that, Jo started to feel ever more confident in their relationship. Harley, too, began to make bolder moves. He started to call Jo "dear" or "love" intermittently, and "Jo" rather than Joel sometimes. Jo, for his part, finally got the bravery up to tell Harley exactly what he felt. It was a night like any other. Jo had drawn the curtains closed tight, kissed Harley goodnight and pulled the sheets up, and Harley had whispered his last "I love you," for the day, and there, in the dark, Jo broke:

"Sometimes, I think you're too good for me, and everyone's too good for me." His arms tightened around Harley's chest, and Harley twisted his neck to face him, his good eye focusing over his shoulder as Jo cringed. "I hear my own voice in my head, telling me everything that's wrong with me, and that I'm a fag, and an idiot, and any second now, everyone else is going to figure it out too and then..."

Harley twisted around completely, nose to nose with Jo, and kissed his forehead and seized both of his hands. "Oh, Joel, no. Have I been pushing you too far?" Jo shook his head, hard, and Harley squeezed his fingers. "You're just a fool in love, not an idiot, not a pervert, certainly not a faggot. Am I a faggot?"

Jo shushed him fiercely at that. "Never say that about yourself." He threw his arm over Harley's shoulder and rested his forehead on his chest. Harley giggled; Jo could feel it on his skin.

"I could tell you the same." He wove his fingers into Jo's hair. "You are radiant. Someday, I'll find the words to convince you of it." Jo tried to respond, but found himself too comfortable with Harley's pulse and voice echoing against his skin. He drowsed away with that sentiment the last thing in his mind. Maybe in the morning, he heard that voice insulting him a few decibels quieter.

* * *

Jo and Harley had one more hurdle to get over: they still didn't agree on music. Harley still couldn't make himself like metal, and Jo still thought banjo-rock was the nerdiest thing since corrective orthodontic nightwear. However, they gradually came to an arrangement. They would trade off if they were listening to music exclusively, but once Jo started to take his Gen. Ed. Courses and Harley got his scholarship reinstated, if one was studying, the other had to use headphones. However, even this harsh divide softened over the months:

Harley had a final coming, and when he cracked his book on the table, Jo got up to change the radio to Harley's auxiliary. The song changed, and Harley looked up. "Ah, this band. They sing 'Corduroy,' right?"

"Pearl Jam, yeah." Jo halted with his finger on the cable switch. "Why?"

"Can you make it so it's just them? I've found I rather like them." Harley's smile was earnest behind his book, and Jo quickly adjusted the mix.

"All yours, babe."

Jo, for his part, had started to gain a grudging appreciation for Mumford and Sons, though he'd never admit it out loud. He would just caterwaul the breakdown from "Little Lion Man" in the shower when the mood struck him, and he would hum along when the songs he knew came up in Harley's shuffle. If Harley noticed, he said nothing, but Jo was sure that the ratio of their songs was increasing in his favorite mix.

On the same note, they discovered things both of them couldn't stand. One night, the radio was tuned to a local station, and when a certain song came on, both of them groaned and jerked to a stand and made to change the channel. They froze, each of their fingers over a different button, then looked to each other as the lyrics kicked in.

"You don't like 'Crash Into Me?'" Jo raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like Dave Matthews Band?" Harley changed to his auxiliary and set his hands on his hips, as Jo guffawed and shook his head.

"Holy shit, I hate his voice."

"I can't stand the themes. The lyrics are so heavy-handed." They stared at each other a moment longer, then laughed, Jo doubling over and Harley smearing mirthful tears away. "At least we agree!"

They agreed on even stranger things, so they found. Dan let Jo borrow his car to pick Harley up from school on a rainy February morning, and Harley darted right up to him through the chilling rain. Jo pushed the door for him, and he shook off the cold and settled into the shotgun seat, before Jo leaned in to greet him with a kiss. Harley sighed as Jo sat back into his seat, and Jo frowned at him. "Something wrong?"

"This weather." Harley pulled the door shut, then pressed his palm against the cold window. Jo's chest squeezed at the despondent look on his face. He already knew where Harley's mind was, and that there were no good way to bring it back, not until the rain stopped.

"Yeah, it's dreary," he agreed, cautious not to say anything that might drive him deeper into his funk. "But it'll clear up later. How about we go find a little of our own sunshine?" Harley hummed noncommittally in response and pulled his seat belt on. Jo's brow furrowed, but he turned the radio on and flicked the dial to a pop station. "I'll just get you home, then."

Harley stared out the window as Jo steered them down 8th towards their building, the radio pumping meaningless pop and rock. The beat kicked up after a few songs, and Jo spotted Harley's hand moving for the dial. "Is the music bothering you?"

Harley's fingers were on the volume dial, and as Jo eased on the brakes, he blinked with surprise. "Er, no. Is it bothering you? I actually rather like this song."

"I listen to this stuff all the time when I'm working out with Gage." Jo did the math quickly, and grinned. "You wanna turn it up, go for it."

The next stoplight they pulled up to happened to be alongside a police patrol car. Officers Ren and Po heard bass booming beside them, and turned to see Harley and Jo in the car next to them. Po, in the driver's seat, moved to roll down the window, but as he did, he heard the song loud and clear through their car windows, and could see Harley white-girl-dancing in his seat (never lifting his hands above his waist, bobbing his head, twisting his shoulders, the works) and Jo pumping his fist and singing off-key at the top of his lungs:

_"So raise your glass if you are wrong – in all the right ways! All my underdogs! We will never be, never be ANY-thing but LOUD, and nitty gritty DIRTY LITTLE FREAKS!"_

"Oh my God, Terry." Kevin scrambled to reach for the window control to roll it up, flushing red on Jo's behalf. "That's fucking Pink, how did that boy ever think he wasn't – holy shit, don't make eye contact!"

Terry was grinning over at Harley and wiggling his fingers. Harley waved back from the passenger seat of their sedan, absolutely beaming through the rain dripping down his window, and Terry glanced over his shoulder to Kevin. "They remind me so much of us, don't you know? Back when we were young and dumb, just fools in love?" He giggled to himself as the light turned green and Jo sped off, still punching the roof and singing through the glass. "If you can enjoy even bad music so long as you're together, you know it's true. They've got something good."

They had that. They had that and more. They had evenings spent studying across the table from one another, they had nights at the arcade and mornings at Mass, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Harley would read Jo his new poems, and, as the weeks went on, Jo would sing a little louder in the shower and over his chores, making sure Harley could hear him. They had holds and hugs, and Jo had Harley whispering in his ear, telling him his voice sounded like home. Jo knew what home was, what home meant, what belonging meant. They had the straight and narrow, and their path forward was clear. Jo knew where he stood and where he was going, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jo and Harley are enjoying at the end is "Raise Your Glass" by Pink.
> 
> Epilogue soon, with an extended epilogue to follow!


	37. EPILOGUE: Harley & Jo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after? 
> 
> Yeah, happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have read this story. Special thanks to RodiSquall, who helped me get started, and to those of you who have cheered me on to the end. Please enjoy.

**EPILOGUE: Harley & Jo**

The neighborhood on the North side of Little Shangri-La was known as Victor's Hill, and it was probably the nicest part of the entire quarter. It wasn't upscale, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the streets were lined with cute, prim rowhomes and townhomes, black-barked trees that were white with petals in the spring and vibrant, verdant green through the summer, and streetlights that weren't decorated with cameras every other block. Jo had become intimately familiar with these streets, but then, a few months living somewhere combined with his innate memory for road maps would do that. Now, he rode up the road on his little black Vespa with confidence. He knew which roads were fastest to the grocery store, how best to get to the city center from here, and of course, which route was the clearest way home.

This was home now.

In the eighteen months since the failed jailbreak, Jo and Harley had made some big changes. They gave up the lease to their shared efficiency the next time it came up for renewal, especially because the landlady had found out Harley was living there and moved to double the rent. Dan had sworn her up and down the block and bullied the receptionist into letting them use the elevator to move out, and crammed them into his two-bedroom flat. They saved every penny they could from there, and a scant three months after the first anniversary of the riots, they were homeowners.

Jo was still in school, but he'd taken a part-time job as a trainer at a local gym. Sure, he didn't care for teaching rich people who were too lazy to work out on their own, but he found he was teaching a lot more people who just didn't know what to do, and he happened to like that. It paid for his books, put fuel in his scooter (a stepping stone to the motorcycle he still dreamed of), kept the lights on, and prevented Harley from working too much overtime, and both he and Harley knew it would be temporary. There would be better someday, it was just a matter of striving for it. Jo thought he was getting good at reaching for the future. Today was just another day of that.

Their house was in the middle of a row, a little white townhouse with a pointed roof, grey shingles, and big windows. It had two bedrooms – theirs, and one for sleepover visits from Gage – a tiny porch just big enough for Jo's Vespa and Harley's gardening tools, and a front yard loaded with waist-high lilies and delphinium, ivy creeping up the banister and front wall, and a huge planter pot overflowing with lavender, thyme, and mint from its many openings. When Jo passed through their front gate and took in the pleasant scent of Harley's garden, he knew in his very soul that he was in the right place. Each step to his door was cherished, as much as every day he got to walk that path.

He opened the door and dropped his gym duffel. "Babe, m'home!" His voice was loud in the foyer, but when Harley didn't respond, Jo peeked up the steps. Harley, however, poked his head out of the kitchen, his Bluetooth headset still on. Harley wiggled his fingers, but pointed to his headset before ducking back out, already talking to whoever was on the other end.

"Yes, yes, I should be able to squeeze you in tomorrow. I'll be in the office by nine. For the time being, please shut it down completely, and please don't run any further defragmentation programs. I would rather not completely reinstall Windows..." Jo followed Harley's voice in and saw him set up at their kitchen table with his work laptop open and a calendar and manifest open on the screen, and a textbook open beside it. There was a casserole dish visible in the oven, and the scents of roasting chicken, garlic, and lemon rolled through the room. Jo smiled to himself and put a piece of paper in the textbook to mark Harley's page, then shut it and set it aside as Harley kept trying to tell his customer how to not destroy their computer. He was still talking when Jo sidled up behind him and slipped his arms around his waist. He leaned in to kiss his neck a few times, forcing him to suppress a giggle, then whispered into his free ear.

"I'm gonna take a shower now that I've gotten your back all sweaty." He released him, only to feel a pinch on his tank top before he could turn and was tugged back towards Harley. Harley pushed the mouthpiece on his headset away, kissed Jo on the mouth, then released him while mouthing a 'see you in a minute.'

Harley was still struggling to turn Extreme Dataflow around, but the business had been fully in the black for four months now. Jo had no idea just how impressive a person could be, because Harley was bearing the weight of doing all of the front-end work for the business and most of the back-end (Ken still handled the books, though Harley kept track of all the data for him), while still taking a full course load in working towards his Bachelor's of Science in Information Technology (minoring in Computer Sciences with electives in electrical engineering, and Harley wouldn't let him forget it). Jo only knew what he was taking because he explicitly told him, because that was still all geek to him. Jo suggested that maybe Harley should hire someone to help him, but both he and Ken struggled to trust new people, but Jo did worry about Harley handling everything by himself, especially while taking eighteen credits of weekend and evening courses each semester and summer and winter courses to boot. Harley was often exhausted, but he promised Jo that he'd hire new help as soon as the right person came along. Until then, he trekked through, powering through his days and still doing everything he could to show Jo just how valued and loved he was. Even today, dinner was cooking, the house smelled great, and Harley had been waiting for him. There for him.

Jo, too, did his part. He made an effort to remember to clean up after himself, and after months of mild nagging, he was remembering to put his clothes in the hamper. He washed the dishes after every delicious meal. He was affectionate to Harley when he needed or wanted affection, and backed off when he needed space. He wanted to meet Harley's needs, to be everything he desired.

Even if they hadn't had sex again yet. That was perfectly fine with both of them. They'd made progress in lots of other ways. Jo found himself dwelling on all of it again as he stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower to shake off the sweat from work.

Some days, he would descend the stairs and find Harley at the kitchen table, long awake, staring out their back window at their lawn chairs and rose bushes, and hear him whispering to himself, wondering if it was all real, if he was dreaming it, if he was just going to snap back and see monsters and demons again. Jo would kneel down next to him, put his forehead on his arm, and promise him, "It's real. We're here. I'm here. Look at me, babe. I'm as real as the sun."

He knew that he, too, would sometimes wake in the night and reach across the bed, just to make sure Harley was still there. Even worse were the nights he'd wake up in the witching hour, shaking off a nightmare and still hearing someone else's voice whispering in his ear:

_"Pervert. Faggot. Idiot."_

He'd sit beside the bed, knees pulled to his chest, trying to convince himself that everything he used to think wasn't true. Sometimes, he could, and he could crawl back into their bed, albeit as close to the far edge as possible, and sleep, but sometimes, he would shiver for hours, losing track of time in his head, until he felt Harley move behind him. Harley would turn slowly when his warmth ebbed out of the quilt, his good eye straining in the dark and the damaged side buried in the pillow, then extend a hand towards him.

"You are good. Nothing less than good. You know that, don't you?" Jo nodded silently, and Harley pushed himself up on his hands, just a little. "If you can't sleep next to me, why not in the other room? I won't begrudge you needing your space."

Jo slept a few nights on the spare bed, just to bear off the dissonance in his head, but at least there was silence. Every other night, though, there were kisses, there were smiles, there was Harley, and sound, peaceful sleep.

Downstairs, Harley had taken off his headset once he'd gotten off his call and turned on the radio as he went to finish dinner. He could hear Jo up in the shower, but only faintly. He twisted the dial to a news report, and settled at the cutting board, listening to the report over the steady rhythm of his knife rocking against the plastic.

_"... our crime and justice update continues with the ongoing trial of Eugenie Maoh. Ms. Maoh was convicted on multiple charges related to gang activity over the past fourteen years, including first degree murder in causing the shooting death of Zack Ro, inciting the Ro Riots, and collusion with organized crime, as well as other related charges. Ms. Maoh has appealed her case on the basis that the testimony of her alleged partner, Dr. Neil Jenning, formerly a professor at Harbor University and a priest, was coerced. Dr. Jenning's attorney could not be reached for comment, as Dr. Jenning continues to serve his thirty-year sentence for assault, collusion, and other charges, after pleading down from murder and conspiracy to murder. The arrest and subsequent imprisonment of Dr. Jenning and Eugenie Maoh has been credited with causing a 7% drop in the violent crime rate for the past twelve months, lending credence to charges that their involvement with high-level organized crime had been a major factor in the rise of crime for the six month period of..."_

Harley sighed over the report, repeating the same statistics as earlier when Genie Maoh's appeal had merely been rumor. "At least they're the taxpayers' problem now. It's merely a shame I pay my taxes." He hummed tunelessly and took up his knife again, shredding his way through a head of chard like tissue paper and thinking of the other good that had come in Eugenie Maoh and Neil Jenning's wake.

The city had begun to heal, and the people they knew who had been hurt by the disaster were all doing the same. Gage had gotten through the last surgery he would need a year ago, and though he still had a great big scar shaped like a sunburst over his ribs, he was healthy and active again, more so than the average fourteen-year-old boy. He played field hockey to get his energy out, and Jo still weight-trained with him on weekends and Wednesdays.

Steele had, with some help from Ken, finally gotten the previous Father Steele's Mustang fully restored and sold it, ensuring the mission would be funded for at least a few more years. Harley still volunteered sometimes, but as busy as he was, it was rare. Still, Steele had begun to make an effort to get out of his office sometimes, and he and Gage would come for movie nights, or they'd all go out for dinner and karaoke or to the arcade.

Though Jo didn't work for Ken anymore, he still saw him if he happened to be at Extreme and Ken dropped by to pick up paperwork, and they were friendly. Ken mentioned that Lily was doing well in school, and didn't seem to have been affected by her mother's arrest in the slightest.

Dan had a standing brunch date with Harley and Jo every Sunday morning after Mass, and he and Jo were settling into a steady relationship as brothers and adults.

Harley and Jo did attend Mass every Sunday, though Jo still refused to take communion, and sometimes, they would go to the North side of the quarter to hear Father Shalimar give mass. Father Shalimar had returned from his "trip" after a few months, and his "second cousin" had vanished back to "Akron" to "continue recovering with family." Shalimar had a limp left over from the ordeal, as well as a few new scars on his arms, but he also had a kind smile for Jo and Harley whenever they came by, and lots of unspoken gratitude.

Jo and Harley, too, were healing, getting better, getting closer, and happier day by day.

Harley heard the water turn off upstairs, and went to peek in at Jo, lured in by the sharp scent of his soap wafting from around the curtain and under the door. Harley nudged the door open as Jo stepped out, toweling his hair, and Jo started when he saw Harley, then smirked.

"Oh, hey there." He cocked a sculpted hip and winked. "Checking out the merchandise?"

"I'm afraid I'm just here to help dress the display." He held out a fresh set of clothing, and Jo chuckled and accepted his pants and boxers.

"Thanks, babe." He started to yank them on, utterly in his element as Harley stood back to observe as he shimmied the elastic of his boxers up past his hip. He then deliberately wiggled his way into his jeans, and Harley laughed.

"Come, now, that's not fair. You're trying to put clothes on, not tempt me to remove them again." He turned to give Jo privacy, but Jo quickly hitched his pants up and reached out and caught his wrist.

"Wait a sec." He ran his thumb up the vein on Harley's arm, then stepped in and next to him. Harley seemed to lean in Jo's hand, his vacant smile shifting to something Jo knew was real and solid, and he managed a wobbly smile in return. "Today was the day." He stroked Harley's skin a few times. "You remembered, right?"

"I did, of course. I was waiting for you to text, or tell me." Harley squared his hips, his gaze moving over Jo's face, and lifted a hand to push a few wet strands of hair from his eyes. "How did it go?"

Jo's jaw clenched for a moment, then spread for a broad grin. "It went exactly the way you thought it'd go. I am officially off parole." He clasped Harley's hand tight. "Yana said I was free, and because I offended when I was a kid, my record's sealed. I won't even have to disclose it on a job application." His hand trembled – Harley felt it – and Jo laughed shakily. "I'm clean, babe, I'm on the straight and narrow for good."

"Straight?" Harley tried to look offended, withdrawing from Jo and crossing his arms, but Jo laughed and slapped his forearm.

"You know what I mean! I'm a free man!"

Harley's mock-irritation vanished into a warm chuckle, and he reached for Jo's shoulders, pausing just long enough for Jo to rest his hands on Harley's waist, and sank into a hug against him. "I know. It's wonderful. Congratulations, my love." He rubbed his cheek against Jo's, then leaned back to look fondly, tenderly, into his eyes. "How would you like to celebrate?"

"Celebrate? I thought this was the celebration." Jo squeezed Harley tight, then gestured out at their home. "I got you, we got this. You could throw a block party and I wouldn't be any happier than I am right now." He swept Harley up off his feet. "So, how about we continue this celebration downstairs, and you tell me how your day was?" Harley giggled and threw his arms around Jo's neck and touched his nose to Jo's.

"Shall we?"

And so they would.

Life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't meant to be. Yes, there were problems, money was tight, and they were both still a little broken in the aftermath of the road they'd traveled, but they were still traveling. At the very least, Jo wasn't bored, because there was always something new coming, a new class, another night with his friends, and who knew what would happen when they both were out of school, or what bump would rise in the road next. He knew for sure that he wouldn't face whatever it was alone.

Even when it rained, he didn't dream of being in jail anymore. He just woke up to Harley and a new morning and a new day and a new life. The straight path was everything he wanted it to be and better, and Harley and Jo would take every step side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be the end, but there will be an extended epilogue. Expect a few more chapters of our heroes enjoying the aftermath.
> 
> Thank you, all of you, for reading! Please let me know what you thought.


	38. After Story 1: Moves 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Harley, in an effort to do more "couple stuff" together, work on their moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is what some of you nice folks are here for. There wasn't nearly enough love between our heroes in the main story, let's add on!
> 
> The following chapters will not necessarily be in chronological order, including some events occurring in the eighteen month timeskip between chapter 34 and the epilogue. This chapter is not one of them, and occurs after the story completely. I'll make an effort to denote, either in the chapter or in a note, when each respective chapter occurs!
> 
> All of the "Moves" chapters will be in chronological order. Incidentally, this is one of them!
> 
> The song mentioned in the chapter, oddly enough, is titled "Moves," by the New Pornographers. Funny, that...

**Staying Straight: After Story**

**1: Moves - Act 1**

Part of being a couple was doing couple stuff together. Jo had figured that for the longest time. He'd only ever really seen it in movies, dates and holding hands and long walks on the beach. He had never had more than a passing relationship, a week or two of sleeping with the same person before casually dropping hands and moving on because whatever spark had been there had fizzled out as fast as a firework. His relationship with Harley was more like a fire, blazing, and had only seemed to swell in ferocity over the last two years as if well-fed. And maybe it was. Maybe kisses and hugs were like kindling, but if that was true, then maybe doing actual _couple_ stuff would be even better.

Jo just wasn't sure what other sort of couple stuff they really could do. They did dates, and those were great. They went to movies, and they would sit near front so Harley could see, Jo wouldn't complain about having to crane his neck back, and they ate popcorn and talked and joked with each other under the sound effects. The nearest beach was a three hour drive, but going to the lake in the summer was still a pleasure, their toes in the sand and their fingers laced tight to the knuckle as they enjoyed the sunset together. Jo just wanted more. He wanted to be as close to Harley as a person could get, and often found himself saying, "I wanna make you the happiest guy alive. What sort of stuff can we do together that'd make you happy? You know. Couple stuff."

Harley, after much demurring and promising he was happy as they were, had finally come up with a solution, and though Jo immediately had his doubts, he didn't say no. That was how he found himself pushing the sofa in their living room all the way back to the wall and moving their coffee table to make space on the floor, as Harley set up a DVD in the player and drew the curtains shut on the flowers brushing the glass. "You don't seem like the dancing type," Jo remarked, then set the coffee table down. He knocked it against the wall, then jerked upright to fix the painting made crooked by it, as Harley hummed with mild amusement.

"I'm not, not really. I took ballroom dancing in high school, and I was rather dismal, to be frank. However, I still enjoyed it." He pushed the disk drive shut and turned to face Jo as Jo set his hands on his hips, and Jo noticed that his cheeks had gone all pink. "Er... my dance partner... she wasn't especially strong at it either, but holding hands with her, having our bodies that close, it was enjoyable for a repressed Catholic schoolboy like myself." Jo felt his insides chill a little. He tried to shake it off – a man never forgets his first girlfriend, and even after, Jesus, seven years now, Harley shouldn't have to pretend it never happened – but there was a tiny, instinctive flare of what might have been jealousy. Harley seemed to notice the effect he'd had on Jo, and raised a hand and a conciliatory smile. "I'd like to try it with you, as it's nice enough when you and I hold one another, but perhaps hand-holding with rhythm would be nice."

Jo shrugged a little, then stepped forward to the center of the room as Harley turned the DVD on. Overly cheerful music burst forth from the speakers, and a host and hostess, both of whom wore very obvious and dated makeup and sparkling formalwear, greeted the viewers in a completely inauthentic, scripted welcome and assurance that "anybody can learn to dance!" Jo couldn't stifle a snicker, but Harley paid rapt attention as the two took position.

"We're going to begin with the swing. Gentlemen should place their hands on their ladies' shoulder and take the hand at the hip level-"

Harley abruptly paused the DVD and chewed his lower lip. Jo scowled bitterly. "Right, so, how do we get around that?"

"Er." Harley tented his fingers and tapped them together. "It might be harder, but we could switch off. There are different motions for the man and woman, since the woman has to do what the man does but in reverse. For now, I'll let you lead, since you're taller."

Jo didn't feel like bickering over an inch of difference and Harley's faintly-remembered high school lessons. "Makes as much sense as anything else." He studied the pair on the screen, then pivoted to face Harley and bowed elegantly at the waist, donning a smirk. "May I have this dance, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, monsieur," Harley giggled, imitating a belle flapping a fan with his hand. "How scandalous. I simply can't-"

"Oh, yes you can." Jo set his left hand on Harley's hip, his thumb brushing the hollow where the bone met his belly, his fingers curling around his back, then moved his right hand up to Harley's shoulder. Harley pointedly put his right hand over Jo's left and moved his hands into the correct positions. Then, he hit play.

The music in the video was bland and toneless, generic strings and bass guitar, but it had enough of a beat for the two light-bleached hosts on the screen to demonstrate what they called a "swing step." Harley and Jo watched a few times – right foot steps right, then back in, right foot rock-steps in, then rock-steps back. It was simpler than microwave pizza. Or it looked simpler than microwave pizza.

"If you can handle this, then you're doing well!" The female host beamed into the camera, her glassy eyes glossed out by the too-bright yet still fuzzy lighting (like someone had smeared Vaseline on the camera lens), but her praise somehow still genuine. "We can add some more complicated steps once you have mastered the basics."

Jo and Harley had not mastered the basics. Jo kept trying to watch their feet to see what exactly was meant by "rock-step," because he heard that and wanted to stomp on someone's face in a mosh pit. Harley was counting under his breath, but kept getting distracted from moving his feet with the beat to look back at the screen. As a result, Jo kept stumbling into Harley whenever he stopped, nearly toppling him over a few times, and the pair of them would stop, laugh, take each other's hands again, and keep trying.

Jo would step too far forward, Harley would stumble back. Jo would jerk Harley's arm, and he'd stumble a step forward. Harley would twist his neck around and sidestep by accident, and Jo would stagger his next step. Harley kept apologizing, Jo kept laughing and brushing it off, "Hey, my bad, my bad." They couldn't call it dancing, but it was still kind of fun. Harley giggled against his shoulder as he stumbled into Jo again, whispering a breathy apology that made Jo's spine tingle. If this was dancing, he'd two-step whatever tango Harley wanted.

Before they knew it, the music stopped, the soft lighting faded to black, and both Harley and Jo made noises of protest, a groan from the former, a complaint from the latter.

"Hey, we'd barely gotten started!" Jo hit the mute button on their new instructions, but Harley took the remote and rewound the tape.

"Really, the song was tiresome anyway. Why don't I put some music on that'll have the right beat and just leave the video running on mute?" Harley plugged his phone into their stereo and turned it on, a slower song that opened with strings but a very strong four-count beat:

_"I believe- you've had some- thing of mine- all this time..."_

Harley took Jo's hands again, moving them into position in a snap. "Let's try it again, from the top." He smiled, and Jo knew he was smiling back when Harley's thumb brushed the inside of his wrist.

Jo tried to make his feet sure, landing in the same place with each side step and rock-step, but though his feet were falling closer and closer to where they should have with each bar of music, everything above the waist was cooperating less. His stomach felt funny as he watched Harley's long eyelashes batting towards the ground, watching their feet, watching the video, watching his face as they moved. His mouth was open, just a little, the way he usually forgot about his jaw when he was thinking, but Jo was fascinated with his lower lip and tongue. His heart was doing flip-flops, and it throbbed in rebellion when Harley adjusted his grip and brought him just a little closer. His balance trembled, and he found himself grabbing Harley tighter. Harley, too, had stepped closer, and was landing closer and closer with each step back. Before Jo had even realized it, he and Harley were nose to nose, and Jo lost the beat and tripped over Harley's foot, falling into him. Harley stumbled back, but grabbed Jo's arms and dragged him with him.

Jo managed to turn their fall in the direction of their sofa, and Harley's backside just hit the cushion with a WHUMPF, his glasses flying up his face and settling askew against his hairline, and Jo planted his knees on either side of his Harley's legs and his hands on his shoulders. Harley blinked in astonishment, and Jo, after catching his breath, bawled with laughter. "Holy shit, that sucked!" He let his head fall against Harley's shoulder, howling. "Oh, oh babe, are you okay?"

Harley didn't answer him. Not out loud. Jo caught his breath again and managed to stop laughing, as Harley's smooth palm landed on his cheek, and Jo realized, faintly, that his heart was still racing and his stomach was coiling tight. Something lower was coiling too. Harley was _close_ , so _close_ , and looking down into his eyes again made that funny spark of heat catch blaze. Harley, too, had a strange look coming over him, as if he, too, was aware of how close their bodies were and how good that felt. Jo couldn't help himself. He craned his neck down and kissed him. Harley made a strange, desperate noise as he kissed back, then slung his arms around Jo's waist and pulled him the rest of the way onto the sofa. Jo hovered over him, nipping at Harley with kisses and bites at his lower lip, then cocked his head and nibbled his way down his neck.

"Love you," he breathed into his breastbone, and Harley touched his cheeks again. His fingers were freezing, or maybe his face was burning, and he'd never felt this way before in his entire life. Harley swallowed and licked his lips.

"I... I'd like to... Can we?"

"Oh, God, yes." Jo closed his eyes, his face buried in Harley's shirt, and Harley touched his chin. Jo straightened his back, his face over Harley's again, and Harley motioned for the hem of his shirt. Jo yanked his tee off and flung it aside, then worked all the buttons on Harley's shirt loose in record speed. Harley popped Jo's belt buckle, then his button and fly, and Jo smothered him with another kiss as he worked Harley's khakis loose. Suddenly, their dicks were out and it was all too real, and Jo had never wanted a dick so much.

Harley's dick was in his hand, and Harley shuddered. Then, he wrapped his fingers around Jo's shaft. "Yes?"

"God, yes."

Harley squeezed his fingers, the pressure undulating from the base to very near the head, then stroked in a moderate rhythm with the beat of the music. Each upstroke had Harley's thumb teasing his slit, and the downstroke had him flicking the head, and Jo growled a frustrated moan at the sensation. He gave as good as he got; he'd gotten a lot of practice jerking off for the last two years, and Harley deserved all the fruits of his experience. He tried to match Harley, not too fast, not too slow, squeezing as he got to the bottom and again at the top. He couldn't help himself, though; he liked it quick, and he sped up as heat built in his head and gut. Harley's enthusiasm, too, burned like fever in his face, and he surged forward into sucking on Jo's neck and nipping for his lips, then sucking his tongue. Jo leaned right back in, mouthing at his ear and cheek, but finding himself swept up in Harley, lost and groaning his pleasure.

Harley was, somehow, lucid enough for words still. "I'm going to come." Then, Jo felt Harley's fingers curl over his, and felt his dick touch Harley's. It was satin-slick, glass-hard, and star-hot, and Jo was seeing white and black spots. He managed to adjust his grip to grab his own cock, his fingertips brushing Harley's palm, and kept up the pace. Miraculously, he could still speak too:

"Yeah, m'right there."

Just looking at Harley, pale against the black fabric of the cushion, his long lashes fluttering, his face so bright in Jo's view, and feeling his warmth and heat, the soft skin of his hand, it was like being plunged through pleasure itself.

There were a few more heated kisses, desperate moans and groans, hot palms on hotter pricks and then Harley did something with his thumb and twisted his wrist and Jo came harder than he had in years all over Harley's chest and stomach. Harley's tongue flicked out against his lips, as if he had rather it landed there. Then, he put his hand over Jo's and guided himself to a finish with a long, slow pull, his spend joining Jo's in senseless patterns of white on white. Jo lost himself in the hormone rush, gasping for air, dizzied from effort and ecstasy.

When the fuzz cleared from his mind, he was still straddled over Harley. His dick had gone soft, his breathing had slowed, and Harley still had his hand clasped tight under his and was weaving his free fingers through his hair over and over, gazing at him with rapt adoration. His glasses still sat askew on his forehead, and Jo moved to fix them, but Harley bumped his hand away.

"Leave them." He smiled vacantly. "I can see you perfectly." He edged up from his prone position, and Jo met him in the middle with another kiss. Harley's kiss was soft and sweet, but his prick still twitched in reaction. Jo knew; no more, not now. This was enough.

They held each other for a while longer, ignoring the blue and purple of the DVD still flashing on the screen behind them and the music thrumming from the stereo. Jo finally broke away to kiss his cheek. "You oughta let me clean you up, or you're gonna be a sticky mess." Harley glanced down, and Jo chuckled as his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, oh my." His cheeks pinked, and Jo rolled to a stand over him, still chuckling. He looked over his body, debauched and dirtied, and ran a hand down his face. "But... then you will sit with me, and we can cuddle?"

Jo had never thought he'd heard Harley say "cuddle." It seemed too soft a word for him, too childish for his smart mouth, but it seemed that all of the blood had left his brain and took his sharp edges with it. "We can cuddle, babe."

"And then, I want frozen yogurt." Harley blinked stupidly, then beamed at Jo. "Do you want frozen yogurt?"

Jo bit down on a laugh. "Fro-yo sounds awesome. Are we done dancing for tonight?"

"For tonight," Harley agreed, then lounged against the sofa, looking like the cat who got the cream and more than he'd bargained for.

Jo cleaned the both of them off with his shirt, turned the DVD player off and turned the music up, and when Jo sat down beside him, Harley curled into his lap and Jo caught him around the waist, and they stayed that way, talking vacantly and casually for a long while, until Harley finally remembered that he wanted frozen yogurt, and the specific lactose-free frozen yogurt that he could eat, and now, please. As Jo went to find a clean shirt and his shoes, he finally had another cogent thought.

Couple stuff was awesome. He definitely wanted to try it again.


	39. Standing Brunch Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to get to know one another better after fifteen years apart, Jo and Dan share a few family meals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted, before beginning this chapter, that this story takes place very shortly into the eighteen-month gap between the jailbreak attempt and the epilogue. In fact, it somewhat takes place during the few months described in the penultimate chapter. However, it deserved to be told on its own.
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains mentions of canon-typical parental abuse.

**2: Standing Brunch Date**

Dan had said it was his favorite morning place, and that he'd pick up the tab every time, "don't worry about it, bro," but Harley still grimaced as they stood on the street outside of Mary's Bayside Cafe, looking at the menu on display in the window. Jo tugged his tie and shifted his weight as Harley hemmed and hawed to himself. "Something wrong, dude?" There were none of the usual things that bothered Harley, pseudo-chef he was. The place looked clean, from the polished tables and subway tile visible through the window to the crisp red and white paint outside. The menu promised locally-sourced ingredients whenever possible and seasonal specials, and lots of the options looked healthful. Harley, however, sighed and shrugged his jacket up his shoulders.

"I'm merely concerned that there won't be anything I can eat." He scratched his head and ran his eyes over the menu again. "We don't eat out for breakfast all that often, so it hasn't come up before, but there are too terribly many items in American breakfasts that include dairy."

"Oh, right." Jo shuffled his feet. "Well, uh, hey, all you gotta do is tell them, and they'll make sure you're in the clear."

"I do hope so." Harley crossed his arms, and Jo started to move to wrap an arm around him, only to hesitate and glance around. Being affectionate in public still gnawed his nerves a little. Harley, however, turned to him, and Jo crossed his arms as Harley forced a smile. "Perhaps it's for the best we don't eat out very often."

Jo grimaced. "Hey, I'd love to take you out more. It's just-"

"Expensive, yes, I know, and I wasn't complaining." Harley kissed his cheek, and that chased away any shame Jo might have felt at his empty pockets. "You need to save for school, and I like to cook for you anyway." Jo blushed, and searched for a response, but-

"Hey, lovebirds, knock it off!" Dan's laughing voice echoed down the street, and the pair of them turned to see him waving. He was dressed down in denims and a sweater, blocking out the November chill, and his grin only spread as he got closer. He put both hands on Jo's shoulders when he got close enough, and Jo half tackled him into a hug.

"Hey, bro, long time, no see." He chuckled against Dan's shoulder, then swung back to look at him again. A whole week felt like a while, even if they had gone a full fifteen years apart that had only been broken a few weeks ago. Dan had taken Jo out for his birthday the previous Sunday, and came up with the idea as they'd parted for the night: how much he loved being out with them, with Jo specifically, not talking about parole junk. How great it'd be to see him regularly to just shoot the shit, outside of the correctional building, and hey, I know just the place. Jo agreed in an instant, and immediately invited Harley along. Harley had, over his pillow that night, told Jo he'd made a very good decision.

"You haven't had much of a chance to talk with your brother, as a brother. I think it'd be healthy for the two of you to discuss things."

Jo wasn't completely sure what he meant by "as a brother," but if Harley liked it, it couldn't be a bad thing. Harley had even seemed to clamp down on his anxiety as Dan politely held the door for the two of them, and the three of them got comfortable at a booth near the window.

Jo and Harley sat elbow-to-elbow across from Dan, and made light conversation about their morning, mass for Jo and Harley, and a trip to the grocery store for Dan. Harley asked the waitress questions about the omelets, the French toast, and Jo could see his disappointment at the presence of milk or cream confirmed in everything. He finally settled on the cranberry walnut oatmeal, as Jo ordered the Southwestern omelet and Dan ordered the Eggs Florentine, "and as easy as those eggs get, y'know?" He winked at the waitress, and she giggled in return before promising refills on everyone's coffee and sauntering away. Dan didn't even look twice, though Jo could tell there was a little wiggle in her hips just for him. He reached over and nudged him with the back of his palm.

"Yo, bro, so, you seeing anyone? You ain't mentioned a girlfriend." He glanced to his right. "Or boyfriend. Or fuck-buddy. So, uh-"

Dan stifled a laugh. "I'm single."

"Oh, that's cool. Free agent, swingin' wild!" Jo gestured a baseball bat swing, but his hand landed on Harley's shoulder. "No shame there. After all, I was single for a good while until this guy showed up. But, uh, I guess you knew that."

"Well, sure, but Yana mentioned to me that you dated a few girls before that." Dan sat back, obviously relaxing at the change of subject. "Nobody serious, of course."

"Never lasted more than a few weeks, and never serious." Jo shifted his shoulders against the bench, but laid his hand a little heavier against Harley. "There was just never a spark, not unless her clothes were off." His gaze darted right to Harley when he realized what he'd said, but Harley leaned in and volunteered:

"Jo's the second person I've ever been in a relationship with. I'm comfortable with this, and comfortable just the same with the fact that he has had other partners." He patted Jo's hand, but pulled it off his shoulder and wove his fingers into his. Dan chuckled to himself but glanced away, just as the waitress returned with the coffeepot and politely offered refills, leaning over to Harley in a way that "accidentally" put her bosoms at Dan's eyeline. Dan looked the other way.

They chatted lightly through the rest of breakfast. Dan read the news, and was utterly astonished that Jo was completely clueless about current events unless they were sports scores. Jo wanted to know what music Dan was listening to, and Dan chuckled and admitted, "I mostly listen to classic rock. The Eagles and the like. But I listen to a lot of pop music when Yana drives, and I like that, too."

Jo perked up, but not at all for the reasons Harley expected. "Yana, eh?" He leaned in, hands on the table. "Man, I should'a guessed!"

"Whadd'you- oh." Dan looked, oddly enough, crestfallen under his smile. "Still wondering if I have a girlfriend." He managed a chuckle. "Nah, I've known her since she and I were both teenagers, since right after I got to town. We're just good friends, but I'm, uh, not her type, y'know?"

"Aww." Jo looked disappointed, but smirked through it. "Well, maybe someday, yeah?" Dan grunted but nodded, and Jo let his eyes drop. "When did you get here, anyway?"

Dan chewed his lip for a long moment, then eased his shoulders away from his ears. "About a year and a half after you ran away. The cops had a good report that you'd jumped a bus headed North, so as soon as I could, I started making my way North too. I made it up through Carolina and Virginia, but when I got up here, I ran out of money. I was panhandling to save for another bus ticket when Rosie and Ken picked me up."

Jo hadn't lifted his head again, instead tracing random shapes on the table. Harley could see him mouthing numbers. "So, that was twelve years ago, right?"

"Mhm." Dan tensed a little, but forced it back. "How 'bout you, Jojo?"

"Shit." Jo cocked his head back and rubbed his forehead. "I don't remember a lot, y'know? I know I jumped buses a few times and changed towns a lot. I was in New York a couple months, Philadelphia for a few weeks, spent a lot of time on buses, but it couldn't've been that long." He settled back into his seat and looked Dan straight on. "I guess... it was like a year after I ran."

"What'd you do?" Dan's shoulders were starting to hike up towards his ears again. "When you got here, and all. How'd you eat, where'd you sleep?"

Jo looked taken aback, and Harley was about to intervene, but Jo spoke before he could: "Uhh... Guess I just started to make do. There were shelters giving out meals, I could pick a lot out of restaurant trash cans if I didn't want to go back somewhere, and people don't watch their grocery bags too well on crowded buses." Harley's chest ached as Jo curled in, his shoulders slouching. "It was easier when I was little. I could get into tighter spaces."

"When did you start stealing?" Dan was quiet, and laced his fingers on the table. Jo arched his back.

"Shit, you're starting to sound like a cop." He kicked his feet under the table for a few seconds, but Dan was unmoved. "I guess I was like ten. It was before Benny picked me up and put a roof over my head. I'd pick pockets, and I might've had a pocket knife I pulled off a shelf that I'd whip out if I was desperate and thought it'd give me an edge."

"Jo." Dan crossed his arms, but Jo whipped his neck up.

"Hey, I was alone. I was little. I was hungry. It was stupid."

"You could've gone for help. I was with Rosie by then, and she was actively working with state authorities to help me find you. If you'd gone to the police, or a hospital, or someone who would give your name to anyone, then you would have been shipped right to her doorstep. Hell, even if the cops had picked you up, they'd've called her and you'd've been home!"

"Last time I'd seen cops, they were taking you away." Jo kicked the table leg and turned his face away, and jiggled his knee under the table. "I didn't want to go with the cops. I didn't want to get picked up."

"I still don't even get why you ran, you-"

Harley interjected with a moan, and both brothers realized he was hunched over, pale and sweating, and Jo sucked in air through his mouth and scooted down to touch his face and wrap an arm around his shoulder. "Babe?"

"What's wrong?" Dan leaned over the table to look at him, but Harley lifted a hand to flag down the waitress. She noticed the commotion and hurried over.

"I'm sorry, but could you kindly ask the chef-" Harley gagged and Dan jerked back, but Harley swallowed and finished, "If he uses milk, cream, or butter in the oatmeal? I have an inkling that the answer is yes to at least one of those, but I'd like to know what I ate and how much."

The waitress gasped and rushed towards the kitchen, as Jo shot a panicked look to Dan. "He can't do dairy."

"Holy shit, I am so sorry. What do we do?" Dan got to his feet and fished his wallet out of his jacket. "ER? Patient First?"

Harley, still holding his middle, shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I'd like to go home, and I'd like to give Jo a shopping list at Rite-Aid."

"Right." Dan dropped some money on the table, as Jo mopped Harley's forehead and steadied him against his chest. "I'll drive you back to your place and take Jo to get you the medicine. Let's get you taken care of." He started to shove his jacket on, and Jo realized that despite it all, Dan was still frowning at him from his side of the table. He found himself scowling just the same.

Brunch was over, but Jo felt like they hadn't had a full family meal just yet.

* * *

The next week, they returned to the same restaurant, and they were given the same booth. Harley asked over and over for the waitress to make certain the egg-white and spinach frittata was dairy-free, and was promised that if it was not, the chef would make it so. They even got an apology for the previous week.

Still, Jo found it a little harder to look at Dan across the span of the table. He seemed more stiff and reserved, despite still cheerfully talking about the weekly news and gossip. At least Harley had an opinion on the latest mayoral scandal (something about improperly accepting gift cards from lobbyists), otherwise Jo would have felt like an outsider at the table.

"So," he opened at a lull in the conversation, and fixed his gaze on Dan. "You, uh, lived with Ken's mom." Dan's smile was subdued in an instant, as Jo suspiciously studied him. "How was that?"

"Rosie Maoh was a lovely lady. She reminded me a lot of your mom, in some ways. I honestly don't think I had a mother until I had her." He folded his arms. "She treated me as well as she did her own son, but she treated every kid under her roof like that. Me, Yana, Lily. She would've been good to you, too, but... well." Dan shrugged, and Jo found himself scowling.

"I'm sure she wouldn't'a looked down on me, anyway."

"Nope. Who do you think started the tradition of only hiring ex-cons at Go West?" Dan took a long sip of his coffee, as if knowing Jo couldn't answer back, and Jo could only stew. "What are you getting at, bro? You sound pissed."

"I guess I'm just trying to put stuff together in my head." Jo groaned and put his elbows on the table. "I'm trying to figure out where we lost all these years."

"Eh, to be honest, I am too." Dan sat forward again. "I'm just not sure what it has to do with Ken's mom."

Jo was quiet, his teeth digging in on his lower lip. Harley seemed to realize something, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Finally, Jo muttered, "Guess I was wondering if you were just happier with me out of the way."

"Hell no, don't give me that stupid crap." Dan stiffened, suddenly vehement. "Jo, I told you. I missed you all the time, and everything I wasn't putting towards taking care of myself was going into finding you. Every red cent, every second. I mean, what did you want me to do? Just go searching around on foot without worrying about whether I ate or had a roof over my head?"

"I didn't say that." Jo crossed his arms and slumped against the seat. "I dunno. I looked in the phone books wherever I ended up, but you were never there. I didn't have any way to look for you."

"I'm not upset you didn't find me." Dan hadn't relaxed yet, and Harley felt the tension creeping down his spine as he watched him. "You couldn't take care of yourself. How'd you end up getting wrapped up in the gangs, anyway?"

Jo's glower fell away, his gaze dropping. "I dunno. I was alone on the street some night, and this jerk tried to grab me and told me to give him his money, and I punched him in the face. We fought until he got a good look at me, and then he just put his hand on my head and laughed 'til he bawled." Harley saw Dan's shoulders sink, as Jo shook his head. "That was Benny. He said he was sorry, said I had a good fight in me, and that he wanted to do something nice for me. Then he took me to Mickey D's, got me a thing of French fries, and told me he'd give me food if I did favors for him."

"How old were you?" Dan was quiet, an utter reversal of the bold man Harley usually saw. Jo still hadn't lifted his head.

"I dunno. Ten-ish. Look, I was still a kid, there's a lot of stuff that's kinda gotten lost, I don't remember exact days or anything." He tapped his toes under the table. "I remember it was cold when Benny picked me up. And I was really, really hungry."

Silence held sway for a moment, until Dan heaved a weighty sigh. "Jojo, there are food banks and shelters-"

"I didn't want to stay in a shelter." Jo bristled. "And I went to a food bank once, but I heard them calling the cops."

Dan's ire arced back up, his back arching as he leaned forward. "Why the hell were you so scared of cops, anyway? What did you think they were gonna do?"

"I don't know, okay!" Jo yanked at his hair. "I didn't want to go to a home."

"What would have been so bad about a foster home? Harl came up through a foster home-"

"Yeah, and look what happened to h-" Jo stopped, eyes widening as he realized what he was about to say. Harley pursed his lips and folded his hands on the table.

"Er." He glanced cautiously between the brothers, Jo looking guilty, and Dan caught between anger and surprise. "My upbringing wasn't the best, due to the amount of children in the home with me, but I don't know if I can place the blame for my faults and failings squarely on the sisters. However, mine was a privately held foster home, and if Jo had been picked up by police and sent to a foster situation from there, he may have ended up in a less desirable facility, depending on who had space at the time of his surrender. There are significant rates of abuse in foster homes. Jo, perhaps you were afraid of such abuse."

Jo's mouth opened with surprise, but he quickly shut it down, turned his head, and crossed his arms. "Sure. Maybe."

Harley observed him, but he could feel Dan staring the pair of them down. Slowly, cautiously, Harley ventured a few words further: "Perhaps someone made threats about such abuse, should you have requested help and-"

Jo stood up all at once. "Hey, look, I actually really need a smoke. Harl, I'm gonna be outside." He pushed the table back, into Dan's gut, and stormed out, his back and arms tense and his hands balling into fists. Harley covered his mouth, then his face, as Dan gaped and stared at him.

"Did he tell you something?"

"It's really not my place to say, is it?" Harley inhaled, then exhaled slowly through his mouth. "You're smart. I've said enough."

Dan slumped over, then rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry if I've caused a problem with you two. I don't want you to feel the need to tell me things he's told you in confidence, and I sure as hell don't want him to stop trusting you. I'll give you guys a call next week, see if maybe me and him can talk again." Dan fished into his jacket pocket for his wallet, then waved Harley off. "You go talk with him." Harley opened his mouth, but shut it before anything else ill-advised could escape him.

"Thank you. I'll see you." He gathered his jacket and trotted out to find Jo, pacing on the sidewalk with a cigarette burning down through the filter. He scowled when Harley approached, but Harley bowed his head with penitence. "I know it wasn't my place, and I-"

"He doesn't need to hear that shit. If he can't get it, I don't wanna explain it to him." Jo dropped his cigarette and stomped it out. "I know you're trying to help, but this is gonna have to be a me and him thing." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, still avoiding looking at Harley. "I didn't want this to be a thing at all."

"If you want my opinion..." Harley waited until Jo glanced up to him. "I think you two should try to understand where the other came from. It will be very hard to have your estranged relationship repaired until you both understand what the other has experienced during your separation."

"Yeah?" Jo raised an eyebrow, then drew his hands from his pockets. "I guess I figured it'd be like the dog coming home after he's run away in the movies. The kid just wraps his arms around him and suddenly it's all okay again."

"Ah." Harley discreetly slipped a hand around Jo's, and they both turned to walk towards the bus stop. "But movies end. Lives go on. The camera has no interest in vet visits and checks for worms, ticks, and other diseases, or whatever therapy the child has experienced for the sudden loss of his pet. Moreover, you are not a dog."

"Could've fooled me." Jo grinned, but Harley harrumphed and gently tucked his elbow into Jo's side.

"I only mean that you are capable of explaining your actions. Perhaps you should compose yourself and do so."

"Mm." Jo glanced away again, watching the cars on the street instead of facing forward. "Guess so."

Harley wasn't sure what Jo wasn't saying, but he got the feeling that whatever Jo didn't want to tell him would be doubly forbidden from Dan's ears, and unless he could get past that, their conversations would go nowhere.

* * *

Jo agreed to meet Dan for brunch again the following Sunday, but Dan carefully avoided any sensitive topics. They stuck to sports scores, current events, and, oddly enough, Gage.

"He's having surgery on Christmas?"

"Just before," Harley corrected, and glanced to Jo. Jo shrugged, and Harley faced Dan. "He may not be back in school proper yet, but the Father wants him to miss as little of his tutoring time as possible. So, yes, he may be hospitalized over Christmas Day."

Dan's shoulders slumped. "The poor squirt. Hey, you two gonna get him presents?"

This made Harley and Jo exchange glances. Jo winced, but Harley turned back to Dan. "We haven't discussed it yet."

"I'll go in on something with you guys. We'll get him something nice, all three of us." Dan put on a grin to try and outweigh Jo's pained expression. "I met the kid, he was a sweetie. I know Ken already said he and Lily wanted to send Steele and Gage stuff, since Ken feels bad that he and the Father don't talk as much anymore."

Jo's eyebrows raised, but he relaxed into a smile. "Well, I guess if it's the hot new trend, we can do a team present."

Trying to decide which video game console Gage would like best was a much easier endeavor than tackling their respective paths to where they stood.

"That was pointless," Jo found himself muttering as they departed, Dan walking one way for his car, Jo and Harley the other for the bus stop. Harley raised an eyebrow at him.

"We had a lovely meal with your brother. I'm not certain it was meant to have a point."

Jo withered under Harley's scrutinization, but stuffed his hands in his pockets and grumbled, "I don't feel like I'm his brother. I saw him at first, and yeah, that was Jack, but now I have to get to know Dan and figure out where Jack went, and why, and... it's stupid, but it's hard, and it's weird, and I still love him and all but I... I just don't understand."

"What is it you don't understand?" Harley slipped a hand into Jo's, but when Jo shrank away from him, he grabbed his forearm and stopped, freezing the pair of them on the sidewalk. "Jo, talk to me. I want to help you."

Jo remained tight-lipped, but Harley's laser-focused gaze wore him down after a few seconds. "I just... I don't understand how we ended up like this."

"That's not at all specific." Harley pursed his lips, but Jo looked away again. "Perhaps it might help if you were to write your feelings out. With 'I' statements explaining your feelings, and questions that you want answered."

"Yeah?" Jo finally removed his arm from Harley's grip, shuffling a step back. "If I can think of a good way to phrase it, you'll be the first to know." He put on a smile as flimsy as the façade of pleasantry had been over breakfast and motioned. "C'mon, we're gonna miss the bus if we just stand around."

Harley didn't at all like how he felt as if Jo were walling him out, even if he knew it was more a matter of Jo walling himself in. He couldn't at all say he comprehended all of Jo's emotions about being reunited with his brother. He knew that if he had a chance to see, touch, speak with his missing sibling ever again, he would hold tight to the ecstasy of whatever time they had together and never want to let go.

However, his relationship with her was terribly different from that which Jo had with Dan. Moreover, the relationships they had shared as children, the parts that both men had told him about, had likely affected both of them, but he had too many blind spots. Likely, each of them had similar blind spots to the experiences of the other. Harley wondered if those blind spots were what was keeping each brother from truly seeing eye to eye.

Moreover, he wondered if he had any panacea to clear it, or if he merely had to watch them play this out like a drama in shadow puppets cast from the distant, dim light of horrible memories.

* * *

They met again the next week at the same diner. Dan had promised there were Christmas specials for the whole month of December, and he wasn't wrong. Harley was merely disappointed he couldn't even try Jo's eggnog hot cocoa, but the nibble of candied ham off of Jo's plate he was willing to try was delightful. He couldn't get a clear answer on whether or not the fruitcake French toast could be made without dairy, so he picked at his toast and marmalade as the Sha brothers made mild conversation over ham and eggs:

"I know I asked at our parole meeting this week, but come on, bro." Dan lightly punched Jo's shoulder across the table. "I gotta know. Did you get that big scholarship?"

Jo chuckled into the collar of his jacket, edging away, but Harley could see the pink in his cheeks. "Well, you and Harl and Yana really kicked me in the ass over it. If I didn't get it, then whoever did must'a paid off the judge."

"He's on the short list of finalists," Harley added, his secretive smile matching Jo's bashful look. "We're both incredibly confident that he's got it in the bag."

"That's fantastic! I'm real proud of you!" Dan reached over the table and put his whole big hand on Jo's head, his fingers tunneling into the strands, and mussed it up. Jo froze up for a second, but only Harley noticed, and Jo quickly forced a half-hearted chuckle and pushed Dan's hand back, then smoothed his part back into place.

"Thanks, man."

It was only when their plates were clean and after both Jo and Dan exuberantly exhorted their praises of the cuisine that anybody dared make a move for the elephant in the room. Even Dan couldn't pretend there hadn't been some heaviness settling in the space between them, and he sat back, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes roving over Jo. "So, I know it might be a little hard to do, but I really want to ask you some stuff." Harley saw Jo's face harden, muscles drawn taut to force his congenial expression, but he nodded. Dan seemed to sense it, because he sighed and leaned forward, an elbow landing on the table. "Look, you have to see it from my point of view. I got taken away after an accident and came back, and you were gone. Just, in the wind. The next time I see you, you're a criminal with your feet just barely out of the slog. I want to understand how my sweet baby brother turned into a gangbanger and a thug. I already know how you got out of it."

"Ain't that the important part? That I'm done with that?" Jo crossed his arms now. "I told you. I did what I had to do to survive. Ain't you happy I'm alive?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Yeah, but, yeah, but, I don't want no 'buts' out of you." Jo scoffed, and glanced to Harley, holding his gaze for a moment before turning a suddenly-harsh look to Dan. "Why did you change your name and vanish?"

Dan was stunned, but he clapped his gaping jaw shut. "It's not like that."

Harley couldn't help himself. "Oh, goodness." He covered his mouth and turned to watch out the window at the damp sidewalk, certainly not at Jo all but baring his teeth at Dan.

"That's sure what it felt like to me. You kept, just, being gone. You were working, you had to do this or that, we'd get out next week, next paycheck, but it kept not happening."

"Mom knew." Dan scrubbed his eyes with his fingers, pulling his lower lids as he dragged them down. "Mom must'a known I was trying to get out, because she just had this way of making sure every cent I had rolled out of my pocket. She'd break lightbulbs, or destroy food. Or she'd just run out of food, and she'd already spent whatever she had on whatever she was using. She'd call me, crying, saying she doesn't know how it happened, she has no money, can't I do something?" Dan crossed his arms again, his mouth forced down in genuine regret, as Jo continued to stare him down and Harley pointedly tried to look away, though he couldn't help but dare glance over his shoulder at Jo. "I tried to hide it from you so you wouldn't worry, but I had to spend to keep the lights on and food in your stomach. One time, she destroyed all the clothes you were wearing but what was on your back. Don't you remember that? And yeah, sometimes, she'd just peel open my wallet, take my checks, forge my signature, and cash them to feed her habit. But I was saving, Jo. Believe me, if I could have stopped her, I would have."

Jo took this in, his lips pressed tight together, inhaling and exhaling through his nose. Harley shifted back around and patted his back. After a few seconds, Jo muttered, "If it was useless, if you knew it was useless, why did you keep trying?"

"I couldn't give up on escaping. For both of our sakes. It's not like that house was any good for me, either." Dan folded his arms tight, but Harley noticed his hands shaking. Jo didn't.

"Ha, yeah, I know. It wasn't good for either of us. But I guess I just thought if we had each other, we'd be okay. You were everything to me, Jackie." Dan grimaced, but Jo turned to look him in the eyes again. For a moment, Harley was sure he sounded like the eight-year-old that Jack had been hauled away from: "I just don't understand how you could keep leaving me."

"I wasn't leaving you, Jojo."

"Then why was I always alone?" Jo's fist hit the table. The whine was gone from his words, his timbre hard, and his teeth were bared. "You could have taken me with you. You had friends, I know you had friends. I didn't have friends because I was a rotten-smelling surly little bastard with filthy clothes and bruises on my arms. That grocery store you worked at must'a had a break room, being left in there would'a been better than you leaving me alone in that house with Mom!"

Dan scowled, then heaved a weary sigh and laced his fingers in front of him. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe you're right. But I was seventeen. I wasn't supposed to be raising my baby brother, but I did my best, okay?"

Tense silence hung between them for a moment, Jo's shoulders tensing towards his ears. Finally, he had a response. "Bullshit."

"Jo, I-"

"No, god damn it!" Jo jumped to his feet. "I was a kid! I didn't have parents! All I had was you, and you kept abandoning me! I had nobody else to turn to, and suddenly you were gone, and you're asking me where I went wrong?!"

Harley seized Jo's elbow. "Jo, you're making a scene."

"Fine, maybe I need to make a scene!" Jo slammed his palms on the table, and every head in the restaurant that hadn't spun around was now turned towards them. Jo pointed an accusing finger at Dan. "You pawned me off every chance you had! You walked around me after Mom thrashed me, you'd just bandage me up and leave me alone, or just waltz into her bedroom so she'd stop crying!"

This brought Dan to his feet. "Jo, shut up. We are not-"

"You shut up!" Jo panted for a second, his smoker's lungs catching up with the rage of a child. "You, you'd dump me anywhere you didn't have to be near me. You knew I was hiding in the closet, and you'd walk past like I wasn't there!" Harley cringed, because the image of little Jo huddled up behind jackets and cleaning supplies haunted him, and he could only imagine the creak of footsteps passing by still ached his soul.

"Jo." Harley took and tugged his hand. "Why don't we take this somewhere private?"

Jo jerked his wrist from Harley's grip. "He wanted to do this shit here. Let's do it out here. What, you thought I wouldn't get mad if people were watching - asshole, I don't give a shit. You wanna call shit on me for going wrong, it's because you fucked me up!"

"That is not true. You are just angry." Dan crossed his arms again, looming over Jo and Harley with darkness in his gaze and a taut scowl on his face. "I did everything I could, and you chose to run away from home and sink to the depths you went to. You could have waited for me. They would have put you in a home, and when I came back, we would have been together. I was coming back. I couldn't help that I got arrested. It was an accident." He lashed a hand out and seized Jo's forearm, and repeated. "I always came back."

"No, fuck you, you came back when you felt like it!" Jo threw his hand off. "You were always walking away! I was always stuck staring at your back! You were all I had, everything, my entire world, and you just left me to get stuck in the system! You think I wanted to just wait and hope you came back this time?! Like my life would be a better hell trapped somewhere without you?!"

"I wanted you to use your head!" Dan seized Jo's shoulders, and Harley gasped. "I wanted you to know I would come back, and go to a neighbor or let the police take you somewhere safe until I did come back! I would've called the police on the pair of us myself if I'd thought there would be any chance of us staying together in the foster system! You chose to run, and you chose to steal to get through! I never wanted that for you!"

Jo shoved Dan's hands off and leaned over towards him. "And I didn't want to live with a drug addict stepmom who hated my guts, but that wasn't my choice, was it?! I didn't want my brother to run someone over with his car! I didn't want to sit there bleeding while you walked into the back of a police car and left again!" Harley saw the manager approaching, but Jo, blind to it, pointed a finger right at Dan. "You wanna tell me I'm wrong here, go ahead, I'm a filthy, rotten little bastard, but you were the one who chose to fuck your mom instead of-"

Harley didn't want to know the end of that sentence. Dan ended it by overturning the table, sending it flying to the side, plates and silverware and the remnants of an enjoyable meal crashing at their feet, then lunged for Jo. Harley broke between them and pushed Jo back, and the grab at Jo's chest ended in Dan's fingers jammed into Harley's back. Harley spun around and froze Dan in place with an icy, heartless glower. Jo strained to catch his breath, eyes wide with utter disbelief. Dan heaved like a bull, and Harley, surely the only one left between them with an ounce of sense remaining, made the decision.

"We're leaving." He pushed Jo towards the door. "Go call us a taxi and wait outside." Jo threw one last dirty look at Dan, but stormed across the tile for the exit, and Harley promptly dropped to his knees and started to pick up the mess. Dan sank back onto the bench in disbelief.

"That wasn't what I wanted to happen," he muttered, and put his head in his hands. The other patrons still stared, and the manager waited for Dan to look at him. Harley cleaned up what he could until he saw the cab arrive, as Dan began to talk to the manager about compensation for the damages to the table and shattered plates.

Some damage couldn't be undone, though. Harley knew that as sure as he knew anything as he watched Jo stare out the taxi window at the city passing them by, but seeing nothing but his own reflection, darkly.

* * *

Jo didn't talk to Harley for the rest of the day but for a mutter of, "I'm goin' out," immediately before doing so with his jacket only half-zipped. Harley found the garbage from a styrofoam ramen cup and a twelve pack in the trash can the next morning, and did nothing but to move the emptied glass bottles into the recycling. He gratefully accepted the aspirin and water Harley offered him when he woke, but before Harley could leave him to his devices, Jo grabbed his hand.

"I know I was an asshole and I take, like, half of the credit for how yesterday went down, but I think that's been cooking in my brain for years and I needed to get it out."

Harley patted his hand, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I understand, but I still can't approve. I am also not angry with you over it." He then backed away. "For now, I'm going to give you peace and quiet, and when you have more to say, I'll be ready to listen."

Jo didn't talk to him about it. He seemed to be over it, if subdued, through the week, avoiding the topic of Dan as he pecked away at further scholarship applications and distracting himself by trying to learn chess from Gage. Harley didn't dare bring it up, their argument or the crux thereof, because how could he? Jo had said everything he'd said from a place of pain, and Dan's reaction had come from the same. Jo probably knew it. It didn't keep him from sulking when he thought nobody was looking, and Harley couldn't be certain whether it was more because of how wronged Jo felt or perhaps guilt that he'd been at least halfway responsible for breaking the fragile relationship they'd been trying to make.

It didn't mean he would do anything to assuage his guilt, either. He made no move to call Dan, and Dan didn't call him. Harley had to bite the bullet, but that was only because he was still on parole.

He made the phone call from the kitchen while Jo was smoking a cigarette out the window into the snow, and as Haku clucked irritably in the breeze that blew through his cage. He wasn't surprised when the phone rang several times before it was picked up, and was greeted with silence. After a few seconds, Harley tentatively opened: "Daniel? I do hope your phone isn't malfunctioning."

There was further silence, and finally, a weary chuckle. "I think you can call me Dan now."

Harley felt warm relief flood his chest. "Of course. Dan. I'm sorry." He seated himself on the counter, watching Jo's back and shoulders as he dragged and exhaled into gray city sky. "I, er, wanted to call about our parole meeting."

"Oh, is that...?" Silence crackled down the receiver, and Dan finally sighed. "Yeah. Sure."

"We probably should have solo sessions this week. Jo with Yana, and you and I one-on-one." He fidgeted with his hair. "And... er... I think our Sunday brunch... ah, perhaps a rain check?"

"I guess so." Dan sounded like rain against a windowpane, drizzling down, down, down, and Harley cringed.

"I never wanted this to happen, I'm so-"

"No, no. Don't apologize. You were trying to help. This was me and him. I know I messed up, I just... couldn't de-escalate, and I shouldn't've tried to..." Dan grunted, struggling with himself on the other end of the line. "I was going to _hurt_ him. I've never wanted to hurt him, I just wanted him to-"

"To shut up." Harley felt anger rise in his throat. "It's strange. He's told me that I'm the only person who has never told him to shut up."

The silence after that was heavy. "Oh. God." Dan groaned off the receiver. "It's so fucking sad that he thinks you're the only person who's listened to him."

Harley wasn't certain he'd heard Dan swear before. It was almost like hearing a teacher or parent do it, and something about it rocked Harley's view of him. "Dan..." He tested his name out, not certain if he could trust himself. "Perception is reality. His reality is still being colored by wounds he hasn't been able to recover from, and it can be so exhausting to try to work through anything when one is in such pain. However, I know you are surely still in pain, too, and seeing him again has likely refreshed it."

"It's like he didn't think our childhood was awful for me, too." Dan's voice sounded muffled, but thick. Harley hummed anxiously and swung his legs tight to the counter, shivering in the chill from the open window. "But I know he had it as bad as I did, I know he's probably still traumatized. I guess... I just hoped we could sort of bury that. Just, mourn what we'd lost and move on. I lost a baby brother, he lost me, and we both came back as different people. Maybe that's it." Harley frowned, but waited for Dan to explain. "We're... we're different. We're not really brothers anymore, are we? Those kids are dead. Jack and Jojo are gone, and now it's just Dan and Jo, and we look enough like those people to trick ourselves, but..."

"I don't think that's necessarily so." Harley pursed his lips, as Jo turned halfway around and raised an eyebrow at him, then faced out the window again to light up fresh. "Listen, I want to speak with you. You're free on Sunday now, are you not? I want you to bring everything you have of Jack and Jojo. Won't you meet me for coffee?"

There was a long stretch of silence. "I don't have much of... I'd be happy to meet with you, though. You sure Jo won't mind?"

"He won't mind. I'll be certain of it."

More quiet. Harley nervously tapped the counter. Finally, Dan chuckled softly. "Y'know, that guy is really lucky to have you. Yeah. Sunday. Just tell me where and what time, and I'll be there."

"Thank you. Take care." He hung up as soon as Dan returned a farewell, and a few minutes later, Jo shut the window and trudged back in, studying Harley with suspicion in his tightly-pressed mouth.

"You good there, babe?"

"I am, yes." Harley stepped down from the counter. "I had to let my parole officer know we would be doing one-on-one meetings." Jo grunted and scowled, his arms coming to fold across his chest, and glowered at the floor.

"This sucks. I never thought shit would end up between me and him this way. Still, guess you can't just pick up after fifteen years or so and expect things to just, you know, work."

"Of course not." Harley wove in closer to Jo and gently pried his hands apart to wrap them around his waist. Jo cracked a smile, and leaned into Harley's shoulder with a warm hug. "Like all good things, such relationships take effort. How about you try not to worry about things?" He ran his fingers down through Jo's hair. "I've already got an idea for a replacement plan on Sunday. There's this coffee shop on Washington I'd love to try..."

* * *

The Round-The-Clock Cafe was nowhere near the previous restaurant they'd gone to, but it was very convenient to the bus route, and Harley had gotten a few coupons as a bonus for helping them set up their point-of-service systems. The insides were lovely, dark and inviting like a firelit den, rich oak beams against eggshell-colored walls. They had holiday specials too, mistletoe-themed tea and a holiday blend of coffee. Harley had also been promised that their pastries were delicious, danishes and croissants made in-house every morning, and that the cranberry-walnut muffins were lactose-free. Jo squinted at their chalkboard through the window for a moment, then shrugged.

"I'll eat anything."

The moment Jo shut the door behind him, he spotted Dan at the back of the shop, sitting alone in a booth with book on the table in front of him. His hackles jumped up to his ears in an instant, and Dan noticed. He rose and approached them, but spoke to Harley in a hush. "You said-"

"I never told either of you the other would not be here." Harley quickly placed himself between the brothers, already feeling the static off of both of them. "I know. I know neither of you will admit to wanting to talk to the other in this moment. But I also know that neither of you truly do not wish to speak to the other, and you do not wish to end your relationship. Not after waiting fifteen years." His voice broke, and he found himself completely unable to look at either man. "You may not have another fifteen years to wait and try again, but you have today. After all, your sibling is still alive."

Dan and Jo each winced in mirrored expressions, then turned their gaze from Harley to one another. Each wore pursed lips and stony eyes, but Dan relented first. "I'm sorry I tried to hit you. If you want, I'll go sit back down, we can have some coffee, and I can show you something I found - something Harl asked me to find."

Jo bit his lip, then nodded. "Sure. I could use some coffee."

Nobody dared get anything edible. None of them really felt hungry. Instead, the brothers ordered coffee (both took it black with sugar), and Harley a cup of tea, and they settled at the booth in the quiet, cozy back corner of the café. Dan pushed the book across the table to Jo. "Harley asked me to find anything I had of us as kids, and while I don't have much, I did dig this up. After Rosie took me in, she contacted the Charleston PD and asked for evidence from my mom's case. They cleaned out the house and still had everything but the garbage in storage. We drove down, but just looking at it all, I couldn't even think to take my old clothes or school stuff. Rosie ended up doing it. I only ever bothered to look through what she picked out when Harley asked me to, and I found this." Dan opened the cover, because Jo hadn't, and revealed a Polaroid of a precious, apple-cheeked baby nestled in a blue blanket, swaddled in the lap of someone in a hospital gown, with a blue hat tucked down to cover all but a few curls of bright red hair. Jo's jaw fell.

"That's me."

"That's you." Dan patted the album. "This was Mama and Dad's photo album." He chuckled weakly towards Harley as Jo, wide-eyed and absorbed, turned the page. "She said it was okay if I called her Mama, since Mom was still Mom, and it felt weird calling her by her name. Dad loved taking photos. Guess I had to get it somewhere."

The next page was photographs of a young dark-haired boy struggling to hold the big bundle of blankets, and a nurse in her scrubs helping adjust his grip. Photographs of Jack and an infant Jo playing on a carpet somewhere, then Jack chasing after Jo in the park as he learned to take his first steps. Jo stopped on a page of a beautiful woman holding Jo up, smiling and laughing for the camera, Jo matching her with his gums and what few teeth he had. Her red hair was the same shade as his.

"That's my mom." He took a shuddering breath. "Oh, God, that's my mom." Harley took and squeezed Jo's hand, then leaned close to his face.

"You don't remember her at all, do you?" Jo shook his head, his cheeks turning bright red even as Harley kissed him, and he shut the photo album.

"Dan, I just... We were so happy. How did we lose that?"

"I know." Dan hung his head. "It's... we used to be those kids, be that happy. I don't know where we went wrong, but-"

"Stop." Harley turned and put a hand up between the brothers. "First off, let me correct something." He tapped Jo's hand. "The first thing you said, 'that's me.' You two still are the people in those photographs. You just took very different journeys on your way to this day, this moment, this breakfast." Jo and Dan made glancing eye contact, then both looked down again. "Your different journeys and experiences have changed you." Harley pursed his lips, and lowered his shoulders and settled himself between them. "It's difficult, but you need to talk about yourself without speaking about the other. I want both of you to try not to speak for the other. Use statements that start with 'I.' 'I feel this,' 'I think that.' Don't make accusations. Just state your truth."

That stopped both of them for a moment, as Jo composed himself, and Dan tore his gaze up from tracing sad circles on the surface of the table. Their coffees, untouched, were going cold. Finally, Dan cleared his throat and put his hand on his chest, and looked directly into Jo's face. "I... made mistakes. I know I have made excuses. However, I was a kid, too. Even so, I could have done better." He bit his lip, but forced himself to maintain eye contact with Jo. "I guess I did try to avoid you sometimes. It was so hard to look at you and see all the bruises from where I failed you. And, then, seeing you grown up, but with a criminal record and knowing you were homeless, you were hungry, it's a continued reminder of the ways in which I failed you. I think, when I try to find out about your actions, part of me is trying to shift the blame because I feel guilty, Jo!" He choked, his voice thick, and Jo cringed, folding his hands. He threw his hands out. "Jo... Jo, I know we're not the same people we were, but I wish I could have that back-!"

"Stop." Harley put a hand up, then looked over to Jo. He was biting his lip and shivering, but Harley couldn't tell if it was in anger or withheld sorrow. "Jo, I think it should be your turn so neither of you feel overwhelmed." Jo sucked in a few more breaths, and squeezed Harley's hand under the table.

"Okay. Okay." He lifted his face, but he couldn't meet Dan's eyes. "I... you... you don't..."

"Jo," Harley warned quietly. Jo grunted, but straightened up and put a little backbone in his voice.

"I... was... little. I was scared. You asked why I didn't go to a group home, and it's because I was scared." He fidgeted. "Mom told me that I'd get fucked up in a group home, and that they'd hurt me worse than I could imagine, and I was scared. She said they'd fuck me in the ass, and I'd bleed and go to hell, and I couldn't..." His voice broke, and he couldn't bring it back above a whisper: "I just couldn't, Jackie."

"I know that I did wrong when I was a kid." Jo tried to put the iron back in his voice, but it was all getting washed out. "I know, now, that calling the cops, telling someone, just getting out, would have been better, but I had you and I thought that was enough. I was still upset that you left me, because I felt like I was left." He heaved another sigh, and Harley gently pushed his coffee cup towards his open palm. Jo gratefully accepted it and took a long swig. Dan unlaced his fingers to take his coffee cup in hand as well, and even when Jo put his down, he fidgeted with the handle. "I just... in my head, I've got this battle. Looking at you now, it's just, you're here, and I never wanted anything more than to have you here again, but then I just, I wonder why you... why I got left before. I want to know why I wasn't important enough for you to... Why you... ugh, why you..." He broke off again, then dropped to a whisper. "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Dan flinched. Harley bit his lip, but turned to Dan. "Do you want to answer him?"

Dan hunched his back, but he nodded. "I..." He traced the rim of his coffee cup, then put his palm flat on the table. "I loved my mother at first. I did. But she..." He fell silent for a moment, then dared look to Harley. "Can I talk about her without using 'I'? 'Cause, we both know she was... what she..."

"I think you can." Harley nodded. "I think it may help Jo to see your point of view, even if you're not directly talking about your actions and feelings."

Dan's eyelids slid shut as the tension eased out of him. "She... you know what she did to me, Jojo. I never said no to what she wanted, but I never wanted it. I hated every second I had to spend with her. It's... it's ruined part of me, Jo. I..." He choked out a laugh, and his face fell again, sinking into the vinyl bench and trying to lose himself in the clatter of mundane noise around them. "Before, you asked me if I was seeing Yana, and the fact is, she's beautiful and wonderful, but I can't. I don't date, because I don't want to have sex. Ever. As much as I would love to have some sort of romantic love, any partner I have is going to want something from me that I can't give, because the rotten bitch who raised me took it and being wanted just makes me sick. I was hurt, just like you were hurt. Watching her hurt you hurt me, and feeling useless to do anything else to stop her hurt me." He dragged his fingers through his hair, then down his face. "I wanted her dead. I'm honestly not sure if I really wanted to hit her or if it just happened, but it did. I'm not even sad she's gone."

Jo didn't look surprised, just sad. "I was. She might've been awful, but she was the reason we stayed together. Still... I get it."

That was what Harley had been hoping for.

"I know." Dan sighed, but his breath caught. "I hate that I was ever away from you, but I'm... I'm just proud you survived." He reached over and put his hand on Jo's head in that way he seemed to do, fingers splayed across his scalp and digging into his hair. Jo leaned into it this time, and Harley briefly wondered how often they'd shared this sort of contact in their early years together. Jo sat back when Dan pulled his hand away, and actually smiled at him.

"I'm glad I made it back to you. We both kinda had a rough time, huh?"

Dan managed a weary laugh and shook his head. "Both of us, yeah." He circled around the table and yanked a chair over to sit next to Jo. "Hey, wanna look at the rest of the album with me? I've only looked at the first little chunk of it."

They had only scratched the surface, but all of them seemed to know that they'd gone far enough for now.

Harley scooted to the side of the table, letting Dan sit next to Jo. The brothers lost themselves in their memories, and eventually further coffee, then pastries for all. Maybe someday, they would really admit everything outright, maybe speak with someone who could help them communicate their trauma, but for now, they were at least talking. This, though, this family meal would be the first step in truly coming together as a family again, and if that meant lots more Sunday mornings sharing coffee and company, then that was as good as anybody could ask for.


	40. Little Talks - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, and a few more chapters that will come up, I wanted to address some of the side characters. However, in this chapter, I decided to pull in a character who was only mentioned in the story, and the shadow that looms over the entirety of the Saiyuki canon, intangible, ineffable. We've never seen his face. Depicting him has been an act comparable to someone who has had a tiger described to him and now has to draw one. I can only hope that I captured the essence of the force of nature that is Gyuumaoh. Enjoy!

**3: Little Talks – 1**

Metal detector, fine. Ken wasn't afraid of a few obstacles in his path. He pulled off his belt and set it in the tray, and waited and watched as Lily pulled out her hair pins, setting her curls loose around her ears, then pulled her hair up behind her neck. "Can you get the clasp?"

"It's alright." The police officer monitoring them held a hand up. "Jewelry should be fine." Ken nodded, but maintained some relief. Lily, with her sparkle, her bright hair and clothes, was the only bright spot in this dark, windowless hallway. She toed out of her wedge baby heels and put them on the X-ray conveyor, and sauntered through the metal detector with her usual confidence. Ken trudged behind her, then took his belt and wove it back through the loops. She jogged to the next security checkpoint, then waved Ken on.

"Kenny, let's go!"

If she wanted to do this, then he would go as far as he needed to, and anywhere she wanted.

Rosetta had read Ken bedtime stories in her family's mother tongue, old folktales of children and their animal friends going out to hunt ogres, children popping out of bamboo stems or peaches, monks traveling on pilgrimage with strange parties. There were always journeys. Ken could probably still stutter out the exact text of what she'd read with him, rote, in Mandarin, but with no confidence as to the phrasing and syntax. He remembered the demons of their old country, drawn out in long parades, and stories of onmyoji imprisoning those youkai who would do harm to people. Moving the through security gates reminded him of those fresh, of his mother's forbidding voice as she whispered of seals placed on a great metal gate, and the beast growling out from behind the bars. He was passing through them, away from home, away from comfort, and deep into the belly of the Federal Correctional Building.

Visitation was usually held at a building near the jail. However, the prisoner they were going to see was far too high risk for that.

"Jeez," Lily remarked, glancing at the stoic-faced guards as they passed, decked in body armor, all well-armed. "You'd think it was some sort of crazy wild animal or something."

There were three checkpoints between them and their destination. Ken was sure airports weren't this thorough. Lily huffed at the third pat-down, but the female officer touching her patted her shoulder.

"Thank you for being patient. Are you ready to meet your Dad?"

Lily, a bit flushed with excitement, eagerness, and impatience, nodded sharply. "It's about time, y'know?"

Ken insisted he walk a step ahead of Lily as they entered the secured cell at the end of the hall, as they approached the dark doorway. However, the room beyond was well-lit, and the two officers posted inside filed past them to shut the door, leaving them facing a Plexiglass window into a booth. There was a buzzer somewhere, a door opened behind the booth, and four officers, caps on, batons and Tazers at their hips, escorted a hulking man in prison fatigues to the stool.

Ken had always found his father indescribable. He was big, for certain, and had always seemed enormous when he was younger, a hulking mass of muscle that towered over him. He'd grown since there. G. Maoh wasn't so big. Staring at him through the window, he could see he wasn't nearly as big as he was before, and his ruddy face was etched deep with wrinkles, either age or stress. His jaw was broad and squarish, his brow deep, his cropped hair dark, and his eyes...

Those were the hard part for Ken to describe. Maybe it was just too hard to look him straight on.

"Stay behind me, Lily." Ken gave her a hard look, and she humphed and stomped a foot, but when Ken took his seat, she stood at his shoulder.

Maoh took up the phone on his side of the booth and held it to his mouth, staring expectantly at Ken through the plexiglass. Ken waited, glowering back, but after waiting, picked up the receiver.

"Kenneth." His voice was a rumble, it made all the liquid in Ken quiver, but he remained, outwardly, steel. "It's been far, far too long, my boy. Fourteen years, correct?"

Ken faintly remembered the last time he'd seen him. He had been in high school. His mother had dropped him off at a diner and promised she'd watch from her car parked across the street, gave him his first cell phone in case he felt unsafe and needed to dial for help, and moved her car before he arrived so that Maoh wouldn't come anywhere near her. They'd eaten French fries. Ken couldn't remember what they talked about. It might have been baseball.

"Not long enough." Ken wanted, more than anything else, to hang up the phone, take Lily by the elbow, and march right back out of this man's radius. Maoh, however, smiled in what might have been a benign way if it were any other man, and shook his head.

"You grew up just like Rosie. I imagine you're as strong-willed as she was, too. Would another apology help? I never meant to hurt Rosie, and it aches me to know that I did." He glanced pointedly over Ken's other shoulder. "I don't suppose she deigned to come and see me today, as well?"

Ken took a deep breath. "Mom died. Years ago. Brain tumor."

This wiped Maoh's grin flat. "That's... unfortunate. Nobody told me." He lowered his face in either thought or reverence, before tilting his gaze back up towards Ken. "Not even you, Ken."

"You didn't need to know!" Ken saw spit fleck the plastic, but didn't care. "She had a restraining order! She never wanted to see your face after she untangled herself from you! She only even let me see you when I asked! There are reasons I didn't ask that much. I didn't need you because I had her! Mom was my everything. She was just another prize to you!"

"That's not-" Maoh bit the words off and cut himself short, his words staccato when he spoke again. "If that is your truth, so be it. I cared for her dearly despite our differences, and even when we were apart, I wanted her back."

"I know." Ken couldn't keep the venom from his voice, nor his clenched fist from shaking. "That's why she had a protective order. That's why, when you filed for partial custody, she fought tooth and nail so that I had to request visitation in order to be _exposed_ to you. Why we had to hide for years. You scraped at her, you - ugh!" Ken threw down the phone and held his head. Maoh sat, patient but rigid, and not moving from his stool. Ken felt Lily touch his shoulder and face, then ruffle his hair.

"Don't let him made you mad, Kenny. I think he just wants to talk."

Ken tipped his head up and around to Lily, who smiled kindly down at him. He realized he was blinking back tears, and smeared them from his face before reaching for the phone again.

Maoh spoke before Ken could. "Kenneth, I can't say I understand how you're feeling. After all, this is the closest we've been in a long time, so I can't know. I'd bet money that losing your mom was difficult; you were still young, weren't you? You had nobody."

"You're wrong. I had friends." Ken bit his lip, then managed to hold his head up, proud again. "Just like Mom. She had Connor Steele, and plenty others who got her through. We never needed you."

Maoh was quiet again. Ken could see him drumming his fingers against his dense thigh just under the rim of the window. "Ah," he finally muttered, then inhaled sharply. "You know, I have wanted to speak with you, the closer my execution seems to loom. You should know, I did what I did for your sake."

Anger seethed up Ken's throat like magma from the core. "Are you kid-"

"For our legacy. For our future." He glowered pointedly at Ken. "I did what I could to give our people power. Do you honestly think we are treated fairly?"

"Of course not. I know, okay? I get that we're all broke and stuck being broke, but that's the trouble with entering a system that wasn't built for us! I get it!" Ken hit the table. "We're all born to be screwed! But trying to screw with the system only makes things worse in the long run. You're Exhibit A." He kicked back in his chair as Maoh stared impassively through him, his fingers clenched tight around the phone. "Did you really think bringing a crime syndicate in was going to help anything? Or are you still pleading the Fifth on all that?" Maoh didn't respond, and Ken scoffed. "That's what I thought."

"It depends on how you define crime, Kenneth. If community organization and leadership is crime, then lock me up and throw away the key." He smiled wryly, and Ken felt his scowl etch deeper. He could only imagine he was as ugly as the man he was facing.

"Murder's a crime no matter where you are. Everyone already knows that."

Maoh seemed to consider this, then laughed without humor. When he put his mouth to the receiver again, it was with a smirk. "Look at you, all grown up and talking as if you knew. You really are your mother's boy. I suppose that's good fortune, on your part." He then sighed, and pointedly swung his focus over Ken's shoulder again. "So, the young lady with you. She's too old to be your daughter, and she's certainly too young to be your wife - unless you're your father's son, too."

Ken nearly growled. "I'm not some creep hanging around high schools looking for pretty and easily influenced girls to enthrall. Her name is Lily. She's your daughter."

Maoh looked genuinely surprised at this, and his fathomless black eyes swung over towards her. Ken glanced back to her as well. "Did you want to talk to him?" Lily nodded, and Ken rose and passed her the phone. He stood close, close enough to hear Maoh speaking through her receiver:

"Lily, is it?"

"Yes, and you're my Daddy, right?"

Maoh looked bewildered, but not displeased, his spine stark straight, hanging on every quirk of Lily's eyebrows, every bounce of her curls, every curve of her lips. "That's what I've been told. How old are you, Miss Lily?"

"Sixteen." Lily swung her legs under the table.

"And... what is your mother's -"

"My Mama is Genie. Genie Maoh." Lily stopped swinging. "She was married to you after Kenny's mama was, right?"

"A very long time after." Maoh leaned forward, tense. "She and I were wed shortly before my arrest, though we were involved for some time before that. She... she never _told_ me, Lily. I never knew of you."

"Mama dropped me off at Kenny's house when I was little." Lily's large, wide eyes batted back to Ken for a moment, and she gave him a catlike grin before spinning back around. "I lived with Mama Rosie, until she got sick. Mama Rosie said Mama would hold me up for all the protestors and say how sad it was that I never met you. Now, nobody can say that!"

Maoh had his mouth pressed tightly shut, then set the phone down on his leg and released a rolling, bitter laugh. Ken shuddered, because he could hear him through the thick plastic, dense enough to stop a bullet but not to stifle the howl of a monster. He flipped his face back down to Lily, his grin wide and showing all of his blunt teeth. "No, they certainly can't!" Lily, who'd kept the phone to her ear, her shoulders straight, and her hand primly rested on her leg, only giggled in response.

"I guess it is pretty funny that Mama thought that'd work. It's sad she never even told you I was around, though. I was super cute when I was little, so you really missed out!" She started to swing her legs again, and Ken couldn't even fathom how she could be so calm. He'd seen this man stalk out the front door with a pistol heavy in his jacket pocket, heard him growling orders into his phone or to cronies who met him at his back door, watched him comfortably, smoothly lie through every alibi and every excuse. He made no effort to hide what he was, what he did in the house, and he spoke about killing this person or that person with the same lack of effort. He'd witnessed this man leaving bruises on his mother's face and neck when she protested his actions. He'd seen him try to force her to cut her own finger off as a show of loyalty. He knew why his mother had run, why he never wanted to see him. (And how dare he look so betrayed, Maoh should have known what kind of woman Genie Maoh was, if she could stick by his side for as long as she had.) Lily, who had never met him, never seen the monster, only heard stories, faced him like he was any other man and smiled. "Have you talked to her at all?"

"I heard she was arrested. I know nothing about why, of course." Ken knew Maoh was lying, even though his eye contact with Lily hadn't even flinched. "She would come to see me when she could, but we have not spoken since her arrest. Have you?"

"Nope. Mama dropped me when I was little, and Mama Rosie and Kenny have done everything they could to keep her away from me. Mama wasn't very good at being a mom. She didn't teach me to read or take me places, and she always said I got in her way. That's why she got rid of me. Plus, when she was trying to get me back, she would try to mess with me." Lily twisted the phone cord around her fingers. "She'd call my school and try to change my classes, probably so she could tell Kenny she'd only fix it if he let me go back. Kenny had to hide all our information so she couldn't call us, 'cause when she got it, she called Kenny over and over to drive him crazy." She nodded resolutely. "So, I don't wanna talk to her. Kenny and Mama Rosie did everything to let me have my life, and I know she'd only try to take it back."

"I see." Maoh looked both disgusted and disappointed at once, his shoulders slumped, his face pulled into a scowl. Ken nearly pitied Eugenie Maoh for a moment, because if he did get in touch with her, or get someone else to, then she would know hell in its entirety. Maoh took in a deep breath, and managed to sound and look relaxed when he spoke again. "Miss Lily, what do you wish to do with your life?"

This made Lily smile. "I wanna work with animals! Like dolphins! Kenny said I should maybe start with dogs. Hey, tell Kenny to let us get a dog!"

Maoh was smiling again. "An animal tamer? That's appropriate. I will certainly ask him, of course. Lily, if you do not choose to come and see me again, then at least leave knowing I'm certain you'll excel in whatever you choose to do. You are, after all, a Maoh."

Lily's face pinched at this. "Kenny tells me Maoh means 'demon king.' I don't think I want to be that. So, I choose to be something else. It was nice to meet you, Daddy. Bye." She held the phone behind her, blew Maoh a kiss with her free hand, and stood. Ken, taken aback, accepted the phone from her as she flounced back and away, and sank into the seat like a deflating balloon.

"That's your daughter."

"She's something, Kenneth. I'm not sure where she gets it, but I hope she keeps it burning." Maoh was settling back into his heavy expression, his gaze weighing on Ken's spirit and driving his heels into the floor. "She's nearly grown, and you are a man already. Your decisions are yours, but know that I disagree."

Ken knew, knew that he meant his decision to abandon the family business, to take after his mother rather than follow in his footsteps. He also knew that nothing this man could say would change his mind. He was under lock and key, sealed tight, and even this close to him, even too close, there was still a wall that Maoh couldn't pass.

"Disagree all you like." Ken drew himself up, confidence in his voice rather than anger. "However, you are correct that it is not your choice. You chose your path." He pointedly ran his gaze along the rim of the plexiglass that separated them. "We'll choose ours. Whatever contacts you have on the outside? Keep them away from us. We're doing alright. You wanted a better world for us? Great. Watch us live in what you left behind." Ken dropped the phone on the counter, then bowed at the waist. Maoh didn't move. He likely wasn't allowed to get up from the seat until the guards secured him again. Ken was free to go whenever he wanted.

He was still in there. Ken was still out here. He took Lily by the shoulder and turned, until there was a BANG behind them, and Ken spun back to see Maoh pounding on the glass.

"KENNETH!" He shouted it loud enough to be heard through the walls, and Ken's chest quaked for a second. He remembered being small, looking up at the massive mountain of a man who'd once held his mother by the throat in front of a mirror, who'd once pushed the last of a tray of French fries to him and said, _"Next time, we can go to a baseball game. I've got friends with kids your age. We'll have a good time."_ His father, and everything that entailed. He heaved like a bull on a rampage, fogging the glass, blunt teeth gritted in a grimace as the guards rushed for him and restrained him. "COME TO MY EXECUTION. WATCH WHAT I LEAVE BEHIND." He struggled as the guards strained to cuff him, and Ken watched with horrified fascination as he threw them like ragdolls, laughing, and more came...

"Kenny?" Lily was pulling his wrist and facing forward. "Let's go home, okay?" Ken swallowed his nerves as the lights in the other room turned off, and turned around again.

"Yeah."

Lily held his arm tight as they walked back out, passing through the checkpoints again but walking past the scanners and metal detectors instead of through them, each step back towards daylight easier and lighter. They had seen the face of the demon, they'd come so close to him. They'd been that close to him, sourced from him, but they could leave him under lock and key and move as far away from him as they wanted. He couldn't hurt anyone anymore.

"I think I might like to see him again," Lily remarked lightly as they reached the glass doors. Ken frowned down at her, an eyebrow raised. She kept her eyes forward a few minutes longer, then glanced up to him, grinning. "I like animals, y'know?"

Ken slung his arm over her shoulder, laughing to himself. "Just let me know. I'll come with you – you shouldn't go alone." He smiled wearily and walked at her side, back into the sunlight.

At the end of the stories his mother told him, the heroes got to go home. Ken wasn't a hero, but he could say he'd survived, for himself, for her sake, and he could walk away from this.


	41. Moves 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Harley move into something neither of them had tried before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Seriously, guys.

**Moves - Act 2**

A few more dance videos, enjoyed in the privacy of their home, had taught Jo and Harley some reliable moves. Their clumsy swing step had smoothed and evened out, and they were gradually transforming their clunky foxtrot to a measured saunter. Harley always giggled when Jo twirled him, and his smile when he caught him – if that was the last thing Jo ever saw, he would die a happy man. Harley was a brilliant dancer, not in skill, but in the twinkle in his eyes and the glow he got after an hour sharing the rhythm. Jo felt it too, in his heartbeat and in the warmth of his chest.

Jo knew he was the clumsy one between them. His natural grace, his slink and swagger, they didn't translate to ballroom dancing. When he had gone to clubs, bumping and grinding had come too easily, a pantomime of what he thought he wanted from any pretty girl who gave him so much as a smile and her first name, and a few sweet words countered any lack of grace his partner might have seen in the flashing lights. Harley, though, watched him in the silky white light from the overhead lamp, observed his steps, and gently corrected his every misstep.

"Toes turned to face forward, pointed towards me, that's it." Jo preferred Harley's dulcet tones to the obnoxious sax ballad blaring from the instructional video. It took all he could do to manage the foxtrot without having to think about how this jazz junk jabbed at his eardrums. Harley didn't even seem to hear it, urging him instead, "Keep your steps even. You move heavier on the right, keep the left in check." He wordlessly corrected Jo's hold yet again, keeping Jo's hand at his waist rather than his hip, and they moved hand in hand across the slick, shiny floorboards of their living room.

That was the other thing about the dance lessons: touching and holding Harley reminded Jo of just what he'd been throwing away to faceless, nameless beauties without a care, and what he would only now dare offer him. Being this close, this intimate, to Harley made his heart feel like a timpani solo, wild and loud and eager.

Maybe it was because he'd trained himself off that first session. Dancing with Harley, even properly, led to getting hot and bothered, and that had led to pants off and dicks out and _damn_ had he liked that.

The second time, he hadn't been so lucky. He'd moved in for the deep kiss at the end of the session, wondering how far he could push his own limits, but though Harley had reciprocated, his tongue sweeping Jo's teeth and tasting of mint and soda, he'd eased Jo back.

"I can tell what you're looking for, and I'm sorry, but I can't tonight." He kissed Jo on the cheek and backed away, sorrow hidden behind his glasses. Jo felt dumbstruck.

"Uh, what'd I do?"

"Oh, Jo, nothing." Harley collapsed onto their sofa and patted the space beside him, and Jo sat too. Only now that he'd stopped did he realize the excitement had gotten him winded, as well. Harley offered him water from a glass he'd had waiting, and Jo cautiously accepted, studying Harley's face. He held it back out when he was done, but as Harley accepted it, Jo brushed his fingers.

"Is something wrong? I swear, you can tell me anything, I mean, we've been together long enough for that."

"It's... it hasn't been a problem until now." Harley drew his hands away and held the glass in both hands, wringing his hands around it. "My medicine, the antidepressants. Sometimes, they simply kill my sex drive. Men have hormone cycles just like women do, albeit more subtly, and mine are affected by my medicine. I can tell already that no matter what you were to do with me, I wouldn't become sexually aroused. It would be dreadfully uncomfortable for both of us." He sighed, then offered a reluctant smile. "On a normal day, being this close to you would have me feeling a bit eager already. Tonight, I don't feel anything." Harley's smile faltered, and Jo wrapped an arm around him.

"It's cool. I understand." He knew how it was both to be unable to be aroused no matter how much he might have wanted it, and to be aroused and not really want it at all. Harley gratefully leaned into him.

"Even if we can't have sex, we can still enjoy each other."

"Goddamn right."

This time was different. They'd had eight sessions since then, making their way through the DVD set lesson by lesson, and Jo wasn't just getting better at dancing. Even as Harley corrected his feet and hands again, he was realizing just how good it felt to be this intimately close with him, and he was learning to tell when Harley was feeling it, too.

Those little puffs of breath when Jo spun him past him, bringing him under his arm and drawing him back close to his chest. His subtle smiles and the way he seemed to lean more into Jo as they turned through what small dance floor they had. His giggles when he caught Jo's mistakes, his smiles as he corrected him. Everything seemed to flow so much more naturally around Harley some days, and his attraction became so obvious that Jo wondered how he could have missed it in the earliest part of their relationship.

Knowing, seeing just how much Harley wanted him only deepened Jo's utter infatuation with the brilliant, intense man he'd come to call his.

"You know why I keep messin' up?" Jo chuckled as he spun him through again, though Harley took a step wild and had to rein himself in, laughing through his nose.

"I have an idea, but not confirmation." He let Jo wrap both arms across his chest without letting go of him, but studied him over his shoulder with a sly smile. "Why is that?"

"It's 'cause you-" Jo punctuated with a pause as he stepped back, leaving Harley at arm's length before he drew in close again and clasped his hands. "- are really distracting."

"Ah?" Harley didn't break rhythm, but let Jo lead him back into the foxtrot, back, back, back, as Jo advanced and utterly nailed the rhythm. "What about me?"

"Everything." Jo turned him again, then caught him. "It's making me think. I got questions for you, babe."

"Do you?" Harley was following his lead, step for step, and Jo, for his part, was trying to keep his feet from matching the beat of his racing pulse. "I may have answers."

"Just one question." The instructors were telling them to pause and bow, but Jo instead swept Harley around and down, and Harley followed his lead into a dip. Jo caught him, kissed him, and rasped into his ear: "Are you feeling it?"

Harley gasped, and in the stillness at the end of the music, Jo heard his heart pounding. He squeezed his hand and tilted his head, lips parted, and Jo took the invitation to delve in for another kiss.

In an instant, Jo had Harley slung bridal-style in his arms and was bolting up the stairs for their bedroom. He tried not to nudge Harley's framed pressed flowers or the little shelf of knickknacks out of place, yet made each one rattle as he hurried past on the way to their bedroom. He crashed onto their bed, setting Harley in front of him and pinning him on his back. The fluffy blue quilt settled around them, and though Harley scrambled to scrape it back to expose their clean, soft beige sheets, Jo was more interested in the soft pale skin of Harley's neck. He sucked on his neck and raked his fingernails down Harley's side, then came back panting, lifting his head to look down at him. Harley was tracing the wet hickey forming on his neck, his eyes wet and glassy, panting from exhilaration. Jo grinned, but kissed his lips and gingerly removed his glasses.

"God, you're gorgeous." He set Harley's glasses on the bedside table, next to Harley's pill bottles, then ran his fingers through his hair. "I wanna try something, babe. You wanna let me try something?"

"Anything." It came out breathy and shallow, as if Harley didn't dare take a full breath for fear of his lungs pushing Jo back. Jo nodded and licked his lips, then carefully worked the buttons of Harley's shirt loose and bared his scrawny chest. He kissed his collarbone, then his nipple, then scraped his teeth down the center of Harley's stomach to the little ridge of scar. Harley shivered, and Jo felt him clamp down and tense up.

"Shh, shh." Jo kissed his scar a few times, and ran his thumb around the waistband of Harley's slacks. "Relax." He traced the contour of the ridge of scar; he knew it inside and out already. "I wanna try and suck your dick. Is that okay?" He kissed the scar for emphasis, and Harley whimpered.

"Oh – J-Joel..." Harley threaded his fingers into Jo's head, but pushed his scalp just enough to tip his head back. "If you're comfortable to t-try, then please. But if you decide you can't..."

"Don't worry, babe." Jo popped the button on Harley's slacks and eased his briefs down to his knees. Harley was halfway hard already, his dick stiff but not all the way ready just yet. Jo braced himself on Harley's hipbones as he lowered on his haunches over Harley's prone form, staring his sex down. He ran his hands up Harley's trim waist and used both thumbs to tease his nipples. Harley's arms flew behind him onto the bed to brace himself and arched his back into the sensation, bringing the head of his dick closer to Jo's face. Jo felt his chest ache for a second. He tried to inch forward, but there was a barrier he couldn't breach, something holding him back. He opened his mouth, moving in, but halted. Instead, he scraped his fingernails down Harley's chest again, but Harley, still groaning his pleasure, reached for Jo's hair again.

"D-don't force it." He rubbed Jo's head, but unconsciously pushed him down.

"Just wanna try." Something about knowing he didn't have to helped, and he pushed himself forward to kiss Harley's cock, then skimmed his lips just past the head. He smelled musk, but there was a hint of Harley's soap and detergent under the distinct fragrance of man. He lifted himself up so he could see Harley's face, then lowered his mouth around Harley's length. He got the head into his mouth, sucked once, and Harley's cock jumped. Harley groaned as Jo dared suck and lick it a few more times, and as Harley ran his fingers down the back of his head and subtly pushed Jo's head down, Jo got another idea.

He slid his hand under Harley's hips and eased his thumb up Harley's crack. Harley froze all at once, and Jo let his dick drop from his lips to look up at him. "You okay with this? You ever done this before?"

"N..." Harley panted a few times, his face flushed red, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. "N-no. I... I've thought about it... But you're my first, and I want you, and I've waited so..." His eyes, feverish and wet, slipped shut. "So long..."

"Yeah?" Jo teased Harley's entrance with his thumb again. "Well, let's break that streak together." He got up onto his knees over Harley, and Harley took the chance to kick his pants off. He lay sprawled across the bed, his dark hair in waves and tangles against the pale sheets, looking a little flustered, his face flushing, his chest heaving. He was trying to focus through the pale shaft of light from outside, but Jo grinned, because he knew he had the best view in the room already. He peeled his shirt off and tossed it towards the hamper, then eased his jeans down with ease.

He had not realized just how much his dick had been aching for freedom until it sprung loose, hard and ready. Harley's noises, his gasps and groans, and his subtle hand rubbing Jo's head and back, it had gotten him primed. He swallowed, because his cock was right there, right at the entrance, but he knew there was more to be done.

He pushed his thumb in a little further. "I wanna get you ready. Do we have lube?"

"Top drawer, my side." Harley flung a hand out for the drawer, but Jo bent past him to easily open it, and found a mostly full bottle. Jo didn't recognize it, and he smirked and raised an eyebrow at Harley.

"I didn't buy this. What've you been doing?"

Harley forced his usual smile through the thrills running through him. "Whispering your name and touching myself."

Jo's dick jumped. "Fuck," he interjected stupidly, and poured a dollop of lube (unscented and cold) onto his fingers, and smeared it around. "No pretending this time." He slid his index finger, slick and wet now, into Harley's asshole and curved it. Harley gasped, and Jo felt his walls clench around him. "Tell me when you start seein' stars, babe." He stroked his finger through a few more times, pulling and probing, until Harley seized up all at once and moaned, a low, drawn-out sound that reverberated in Jo's chest and gut. That was a good answer. Jo sucked in air, staving off the tightness drawing up his balls. "Relax, babe." He slipped his middle finger in, and Harley cried out again.

"Joel, please-!"

"You ain't ready." He pumped his fingers a few times, brushing against the sweet spot he'd found, and Harley thrashed and groaned. It was a thrill to see his usually composed, usually placid lover coming undone, especially when he finally wrapped his own hand around his cock to keep it under control.

"Joel, please, I'm ready, I'm – I'm about to lose control, please!"

Jo shushed him, but couldn't hold back a wicked grin as he slipped in a third finger. He never thought he'd see Harley beg like that. Hell, when he had done this with women, that had been a turn-on, too. Knowing how proud Harley could be made seeing him desperate even better. He withdrew his fingers and leaned forward to make eye contact. "I'm going in slow. You tell me if it's too much." Something hit him: "You want me to use a condom?"

"Wh... Would you rather?" Harley blinked, his gaze feverish and trying to muddle through. "You tested..."

"It came up clean when I got tested, but..." Jo swallowed. "Don't wanna hurt you, babe."

"It's fine." Harley ran his hand down Jo's arm. "I want to feel you. Please?"

Jo's mouth was dry, and his throat was thick, but he rasped, "You got it," and lined up dick with hole.

His entrance was slow, a careful push. Harley's jaw stretched wide, and a soft gasp accompanied each increment deeper. He was still tight, but warm and so welcoming: wanting. "Yes," Harley whispered, and Jo felt his passage relax just enough for him to slide in to the root.

If Jo had believed in Heaven, this would be it. The elation on Harley's face reflected the joy that seraphic choirs could only sing of, impossible to experience on Earth.

Jo licked his lips and braced his arms on the bed on either side of Harley. "Legs around my waist, babe." Harley obliged, and the lift that gave his hips gave Jo enough room and leverage to pull out and push in. Harley gasped, a sharp 'oh!' and arched his back again, driving up into Jo's hips. Jo eased into that rhythm, reflecting Harley's slow, careful movements, and drew back only to push in again. He moved just in and out, shallow, gradual, but tipping his hips up against Harley's prostate and dragging on it as he passed. Harley's moan crescendoed and pitched with delight at each thrust, each tiny motion.

"Jo – more – deeper –"

Jo's hips snapped forward of their own accord, pushing deep in and thrusting Harley down onto the mattress. Harley cried out, his voice cracking, and Jo growled in response, and pushed himself up towards Harley. Fully sheathed and bucking hard, Jo found he was effectively pinning Harley, but Harley had thrown himself back. He grasped the sheets in his fingers, hooked his knees on Jo's shoulders, and tossed his head back in the throes of his ecstasy.

"Touch me," he gasped. "I'm so close, please!"

Jo worked his hand around Harley's dick, and could feel Harley's pulse throbbing through the velvety skin. His cock throbbed in empathy. "Oh, fuck –" He stopped, buried to the hilt, his balls drawing up tight, and sucked in air to smile down at Harley. "I'm close too." He thumbed the head of Harley's cock. "You want me to come, babe?" Harley whispered something nonsensical, quick and pleading:

"Yes, please, the way you _move_ in me, fuck me, please!"

Jo felt the tension wound in his gut threaten to unfurl when Harley swore (fuck, it was so hot when he talked dirty), but bore it back and managed a grin through his sweat. "You feel me?" He thrust again, eliciting another moan out of Harley. "Up in your chest? All the way in?"

"Oh, God, yes!" Harley's passage seized around Jo, and Jo gripped Harley's dick and stroked as he thrust once, twice, and then all the way in. Harley cried out, his spend spilling all over Jo's hand, and Jo chased him, coming as hard as he could remember. He rode it out, breaking rhythm into sloppy thrusts as he bucked through the last few spurts of his orgasm.

But his instincts told him to keep going. Without even thinking about it, he buried himself in Harley's heat again.

"M'gonna come again," he mumbled, because he could feel his balls already drawing up and stars were dancing in his eyes. Harley, pink and flushed bright against the sheet, stared with fever in his gaze as Jo drew out and thrust again into wet, slick come and Harley's heat. Harley was spent and starting to go soft, but Jo's hips moved in again, almost without him thinking about it. "Can I come again, Harl?"

"Y-yes." Harley ran his hands up Jo's thigh. "Please." Then, Harley raked his fingers down his hip and pushed him forward again. Jo, starting to shiver in the draft from the bedroom window, his nerves shot all to hell, could only manage uneven thrusts, stopping each time he bottomed out as his dick pulsed again. Harley was loose and relaxed now, and he was moving the muscles of his hole in time with Jo's thrust, holding him tight so he couldn't come back out until he could exhale and withdraw of his own accord. Harley was panting, his dick twitched each time Jo pushed in. Everything was so loud. The noise, the scent, the vision of Harley flashing through his dazed mind, it was all smothering. Then, Harley grasped Jo's hand, laced his fingers with his, and squeezed. "Joel!"

Jo came undone, the last gasp of his orgasm tearing from his toes up through his spine, sending electricity down every nerve ending as he spilled every drop left in him deep into Harley's clenching asshole. "Fuck," he spat into the chill night air, his mind useless for anything more. Harley slid his legs off of Jo and let them fall to the bed, and Jo slid out, his cock still dripping, and pushed himself up onto his elbows to look down into Harley's face. He was looked wrecked, still flush with excitement even as his damp prick went soft against his thigh, and, trembling through the aftershocks, he beckoned Jo down into the soft, inviting mattress.

Jo didn't hold out. He let his elbows buckle and crashed onto Harley's stomach, then carefully rolled over and inched up to lay alongside him. He slung his arms around Harley's neck and kissed him, slow and deep. He could feel himself shivering a little, and knew that if he could see himself, he'd look utterly fucked, as if he'd been devastated by his own perfect passion. He'd had lovers before. He'd made love to women who never meant a thing to him. It hadn't been like this. Orgasms were good, but Christ, they'd never been that good. He hadn't just been in Harley's pants, or even in his body. Harley had let him into his soul, and knowing that he'd gotten there

The room fell quiet but for Harley's ragged breathing and the swish of the fan overhead, and occasionally the rustle of the quilt bunched up under their feet. Speech came back to Jo slowly: "Love you."

"Mhm. You too." Harley laid a smattering of kisses over his forehead, butterfly-wing light brushes of his lips. He had that sleepy tone to his voice, as if all his energy had rushed out of him, the same muddled tones the first time they'd fooled around. "I should... ah... clean... but you're... I'm comfortable. Stay a minute?"

"As long as you want, babe." Jo wrapped his arms around him, and soon found himself rocking against Harley's back, humming tunelessly. Harley relaxed, and Jo couldn't help but melt against him. "Love you," he mumbled again, and again and again: "Love you, Harl. Love you." Harley turned to face Jo, rested his cheek on his chest, and sighed his contentment. Jo could feel him smiling against his chest, warm as the rest of him got chilly. He wove his fingers into Harley's hair and stilled like that, the universe washing away around him.

"Love you, love you, love you."

He tried, later, to remember what had gotten the best reaction out of Harley, but contentment had painted it all with a haze. He merely decided that next time, he'd have to pay better attention to his moves. He had plenty of time to master them, and he was ready to learn more.


	42. Rook, King, Queen, Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mercy decide to expand their family, but making a new whole from disjointed parts is a challenge when one of the pieces is too scared to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided we needed to know what happened to a certain character who vanished about halfway through. Plus, I thought it would be nice to see Mercy have a little more of hir happy ending. Enjoy!

**5: Rook, King, Queen, Castle**

A man's home is his castle, so the old saying went, but John Roger Shin wasn't so terribly used to a home like that. His mother had been the queen of her domain, and his father, a dear but meek man, had politely served her whim. Then again, he was a middle-aged man who'd only recently gotten his longtime fling to deign to move from hir roach-infested studio to his cozy brownstone, so he had no room to criticize his father. John's father had never been any less happy for not being in control of his home, and he'd made it perfectly clear to John why that was so: he had a lovely wife, a comfortable home, and beautiful children, so he wanted for nothing.

John had Mercy. That was a joy. Mercy, who'd finally agreed to make him hir only Johnny, who so easily helped him tidy up what loose threads he had in his life and gather him into sense, se was his now. He'd purchased the house once he'd gotten what he considered his dream job, in hopes he would soon capture the lovely lady of his dreams. Twenty years and change wasn't particularly soon, but, again, Mercy. Se was very much worth the wait. However, years of empty rooms had resulted in clutter, but for the bed that was always kept open for Mother. Mercy had shown him exactly how to clean it up, and even redecorated it to look tasteful and welcoming (out of his pocket, but se'd contributed the idea, so it was only fair). His home and partner were lovely. Children, however?

He'd wanted them. Fifteen years ago, perhaps he would have had them. However, there had been no Mercy fifteen years ago, nor any woman who would give him the time of day. Even when there was Mercy, when he'd been wooing hir and trying to convince hir to give up the other men se saw, he'd soon learned that while se could use hir body in any way se so chose, se could not have children. Se'd never menstruated. Se had always said it was fine this way, that se got all the benefits of being a woman without the most inconvenient drawback. It still meant no children. Not with hir, and John couldn't think of being with anybody else, not even a surrogate.

Besides, he was in his fifties now. What child wanted to toddle back to a man all the other children saw as a Grandpa?

But he wanted children. Mercy wanted him to have them, too. He simply wouldn't have his own, and he wouldn't have a baby.

Yet, this spring day, he still found himself anxiously awaiting a special delivery.

"Johnny, baby, calm down." Mercy was still contently applying hir makeup as hir tea went cold on the corner of hir vanity, and he peered out through the vinyl blinds for the umpteenth time in the hour. "It's government work, you know they're gonna be late."

"Oh, I know, I know." He groaned and tugged at his hair again, then quickly smoothed it down. "But they said between nine and ten, and gracious, Mercy, it's very nearly nine, and I-"

"Darling, not everyone says 'if I'm not fifteen minutes early, I'm twenty minutes late.'" Se set hir makeup brush down and slunk over behind him, as he sank onto their shared bed and se wrapped hir arms around his shoulders. "Don't get too excited until I've got my face on. I don't want to meet anybody until I'm presentable." John sighed and leaned into hir chest. It was nice to know he didn't have to be the pillar sometimes. It was about then that the pair of them heard a car pulling to a stop on their quiet street, and Mercy patted his arm. "Why don't you look now?"

Se released him, and he jumped to the window. A nondescript white van with the county flag emblazoned on the side had pulled to a stop, and a woman in a three-piece suit had gotten out of the passenger side and moved to open the back door. "Oh, oh, that's them, that's them! Mercy, dear-!"

"I know." Mercy had shed hir robe and slunk towards hir closet, but waved him on. "I'm dressing, why don't you answer the door?"

John felt like a child on Christmas as he darted down the stairs, tapping the banister with each step and each clap of his loafers against the carpet, and reached the bottom landing just as the doorbell rang. He flung the door wide and smiled brightly at whoever was waiting for him. "Good morning, and welcome!"

"Good morning, Mr. Shin." John faintly recognized the social worker as a pleasant woman who'd escorted little children to court to testify against their parents. Always the same suit and magenta ascot. John was used to seeing the same faces all the time. She stepped aside, and John saw a new face. "This is Mr. Shin. Won't you introduce yourself?"

He was thin and pale, and despite John knowing the boy to be fourteen according to the papers in his file, he was a head shorter than the social worker. His hair was cut close and messy, and Shin could see little red rings on his scalp where his dreadlocks, heavy-looking chunks of hair that had been twisted tight to the skin, had all been cut away. His eyes, pale blue-irises and dark pupils, were wide, and his lips were sealed. He glanced anxiously at the social worker, then shook his head. "No?" She frowned and pursed her lips, and the boy shrank away from her, even as she took him by the shoulder. "Mr. Shin, this is Nathan."

John crouched as Nathan hung his head. "It's a pleasure, to be sure." He extended his hand. "It's alright to be shy, boy. I'm a new person, and you're in a new place. But, if I do say so, we're going to have a nice time here." He chuckled. "Oh, and you can call me John." He could see Nathan's eyes move to study his hand, but he kept his own hands pinned to his side. It took a moment for John to decide Nathan wasn't going to shake his hand, and he withdrew it, and failed to keep disappointment from his voice: "Why don't I carry your bag in and show you around?"

Nathan's entire life had been packed into a single duffel. John had read his file, not to mention his father's file: there were multiple reports of child abuse in the history, indicating that Nathan had been beaten and starved, all without enough proof for arrest. Only the most recent call (in September, a few weeks prior to the jailbreak) had garnered any results, when police entered the home and found the father thrashing Nathan with a belt. The father was arrested, the mother arrested for complicity in hiding the abuse, and though the mother was released shortly after arrest, Nathan's father terminated their parental rights from his prison cell, effectively leaving Nathan an orphan. John had heard of the case from a friend, and after some investigation of his own, volunteered to foster him. If Nathan liked him enough, if they all meshed well, then he would happily adopt him as his own. He knew to expect, however, that Nathan might have difficulty adjusting. He knew that Nathan had been returned from his last six foster homes over the last six months. From the way Nathan hugged his duffel to his chest the moment the social worker retrieved it, he wondered if Nathan wasn't just waiting for John's home to be number seven and to move right back out towards number eight.

"You can just leave it by the stairs, dear boy." John tried to take the duffel by its straps, and the moment his hands came close to Nathan's, he dropped the bag all at once, eyes still wide. The social worker hovered behind them, as John gestured. "The bedrooms are all up the stairs. You will sleep on the second floor. My suite is on the third, but you are welcome any time so long as you knock first if the door is closed." He glanced back, only to see that Nathan was staring dead past him, not quite following his gestures. "Er... If you'll come in..." He took a few steps, and the social worker whispered something to him and ushered him further into the house, towarsd the neat, tidy little kitchen, the den, classically appointed in rich brown leather and cream carpet, with a loveseat for two and some armchairs for guests. "The kitchen is here, and the pantry is open to you, of course, and you're welcome to the television so long as your homework is done." He spun around, hands clasped, and smiled towards Nathan with every ounce of magnanimous charm he could muster. "And of course, this is your home now, too, so we can bring in things you like. What do you like to do?"

Nathan winced and looked down, unable to make eye contact with him. John knit his eyebrows up with anxiety, but the social worker wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Nathan likes games. Don't you?" Nathan didn't respond, but caved further into himself. She sighed and stepped past Nathan to speak quietly to John: "He's very timid around new people. Please, give him a chance."

"I intend to." John bit his lip, glancing over at Nathan where he stood, stark still and hunched up as much as he could.

John walked the social worker to the door just as Mercy descended from the upstairs, and se leaned over the banister as John passed. "Johnny, where's the new baby?"

"In the kitchen, dear. He's, er, taking it in." John held the door for the social worker to see her off, and Mercy blew John a kiss as se circled him. He waited until the social worker was in her car before he turned to join Mercy. Nathan was just where he'd left him: sitting at the table, staring out the window. Mercy set hir hands on hir hips, raising an eyebrow at Nathan, but he didn't seem to see hir, didn't even react when se strode right to his side and bowed over next to him.

"Hey, sweetie, I'm Mercy. I'm Johnny's partner-slash-personal secretary. I'll be taking care of you when Johnny's at work, so you and me are gonna be real good friends, okay?"

Nathan dared glance at her, then withdrew, pulling his knees in. Mercy puzzled over him for a moment, then swung her eyes back to John. "He's somethin'. What should we do now?"

John fixed his gaze to Nathan, lips pursed, a frown setting in on his face. "I'm afraid I'm not sure. But..." He laid his palm on Nathan's back. Nathan flinched, but he didn't shake John off. John smiled, hoping it communicated in his voice. "We'll figure it out together. I'll put on some tea. Nathan, do you take tea?"

Nathan didn't answer him, nor did he even dare to look at John even when John removed his hand.

* * *

John would drop Nathan off at his school and wave him off, but Nathan didn't speak to him or look at him while he was driving. Mercy would wait on the steps at the last bell to walk him back, but he'd slump along a few steps behind hir, his face fixed towards the ground. He'd do his homework, but when it was done, he'd put his books away and set his head down on the table, staring at the wall. Mercy would look up from hir cup of tea and book, then tap the table in front of him, long nails clicking on the wood.

"You're all done? That's good. Would you like me to check your work? I ain't a rocket scientist, but I think I can handle high school math." His gaze batted up to hir for a second, before quickly avoiding touching hir again. Se pursed hir lips, then sighed and bent closer to him. "Maybe you're a little old for that. That's all right. Johnny won't be home for a bit, so there's time before dinner. You want a snack?" Nathan was faintly shivering - se could only just see it - so se knew he was listening, but he didn't say anything. "If not, maybe you want to watch TV? Go for a walk? Listen to the radio?" Se scratched hir head. "Jeez, what do the kids these days like, anyway? I remember when I was your age, all I wanted to do was put on too much makeup and troll the roller rink for hot guys." Se paused, and smirked. "Hey, hon, how do you like roller skating?"

Se didn't know, he never answered. Se didn't know what to do with him, because he never told hir.

John would be home for dinner, and he, too, tried to engage Nathan. "How was school?" Nathan would stare at his plate. He wouldn't eat. It was hard enough to get him to come to the table. He shook like a leaf, the kind that would crumple to dust if touched wrong. Even John's innocuous questions got nothing but a flinch. "Er, did Mercy help you with your homework?" Nathan trembled as if the question had struck him, but this usually got a little nod. John bit his lip, waiting for even a little more. "I, er, had hoped to do something interesting this weekend. Is there anything you'd like to do?"

Nathan gave him nothing. He would wait until both John and Mercy were done eating, wolf down what he could of his portion, then wash his own plate. Then, he'd hide in the bedroom Mercy had put together for him, only daring to peek out when directly called.

John was heartbroken. He'd hoped to become a father, not a kennel keeper for a shy dog. After a week, and in the quiet peace of Mercy's arms, he could only come to one conclusion.

"He hates me," he sobbed to hir, his face buried in hir breast, as se ran hir fingers down the back of his head. "I try and try, but he just-!" Mercy sighed and shuffled him further up hir chest.

"Johnny, you knew it'd take time for him to settle in. I don't think he hates you. You're not all that hate-able." Se ran hir fingers down his cheek, then tipped his chin to lift his face. "I dunno if he's making the effort, but he doesn't hate ya."

"Ohh." He moaned a little, his eyes scrunched and red with tears, and se slicked the bags of his eyes with hir thumb. "I don't know. Maybe we're simply not a good fit."

"This might be why we're, what, home number five? Six?"

"Seven." John's face fell, and Mercy sighed and gently nudged his nose into hir cleavage.

"He's not trying. It's not you. Please don't blame yourself."

John moaned again, but inched his hand up hir shoulder and nestled against hir. Mercy stroked his hair a few more times, and he shut his eyes, then murmured, "Perhaps I need to talk to him. Perhaps he'd be happier elsewhere. If I could just talk to him and find out what he wanted, we'd get somewhere."

"Then maybe you should try." Mercy tipped his face towards hir again, raising hir eyebrows. "But babe, I can't watch you suffer like this. If he doesn't know what he wants from us, then we need to give him a kick in the ass so he can figure it out. If it means he doesn't want to live here, so be it."

John sniffled, and Mercy gently dried his eyes again. "I don't want to give up on him."

"If he won't try, there's nothing to give up on." Mercy kissed him on the forehead. "No more tears. We'll have a good sit-down with him tomorrow night."

John mumbled sad assent, and Mercy rolled over and drew hir knees up into his, spooning him and stroking his hair. Despite being the man of the house and a district attorney, he really was just a small, fragile little rabbit who needed gentle words and loving cuddles most of the time. He always had been, ever since the day they met. Mercy was silently loath to see him in pain, but se bore it with a patient smile and the backbone he abandoned far too quickly. Se knew it was hir job to take care of things that he either didn't have time for or that he couldn't muster the bravery for, to be the woman behind the man, and se knew that if it came down to it, se would enforce the law under this roof.

As much as his situation was to be pitied, he either needed to accustom to his new life or try again elsewhere.

* * *

The next afternoon, Nathan was staring at his closed schoolbooks, his homework completed, and Mercy was lounging on the sofa with one of the afternoon talk shows on (se couldn't tell the hosts apart, but se loved when the talk got raunchy). Dinner was in the oven, the house was clean, and Mercy knew se had time before John got home to handle a little personal business.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm making a phone call. If it bothers you, let me know and I can take it upstairs." Nathan, of course, said nothing, and Mercy stifled a noise of frustration and dialed the number. Se turned the volume of the TV low, then motioned to Nathan over the edge of the sofa. "If you want to change the station, go ahead." Nathan still didn't respond, and Mercy withheld her chide long enough for the other end of the line to pick up.

"Hello, Merc!"

"Gage, hey!" Se sat up, smiling to hirself at the sound of his voice. "How've you been, hon?"

"Aw, I'm doin' great, thanks!"

In the quiet of the room, Nathan could hear every word, and he lifted his head in the direction of the sofa, eyes wide and keenly focused on Mercy. Mercy noticed him listening, but instead kicked hir feet up onto the coffee table. "How's those boo-boos treatin' you?"

"Much better! Dad says if I keep up with my PT and stuff, I might get cleared for regular gym classes again for the next school year! Plus, Jojo's helpin' me a ton. It's been kinda crazy around here, but Dad says it's more important I take care of myself than I push myself to take care of everyone else."

Nathan had risen from the kitchen chair and trotted around the sofa, his eyes still wide. Mercy raised an eyebrow at him, but answered Gage, "That's really good to hear, and your Dad's right. You gotta take care of yourself. There's lots of people who want you to get better. Hang on a sec." Se covered the receiver and looked at Nathan. "Is something wrong, kiddo?"

Nathan pointed at the phone, his hand shaking, and whispered the first two words se ever heard come out of him: "It's him."

Mercy frowned. No time to be surprised. "Who?"

"That boy. May I?" Nathan swallowed and held out a quaking hand. "Please?"

Mercy's brow remained furrowed, but se patted the empty cushion next to her and lifted the receiver back to her mouth. "Gage, sweetie, this is gonna be a weird question, but do you know someone named Nathan?"

"Hmm." Gage mumbled the name under his breath a few times, then gasped. "The Chess Prince! Dad said his name was Nathan, but I thought I'd wait for him to tell me his name was Nathan in case he didn't wanna be Nathan for some reason, and - uhm, he hasn't been here for a while. Why?"

Mercy glanced over to Nathan, who waited on the edge of the seat. "Well, apparently Nathan's the Chess Prince at my house now." Se smiled playfully at him. "Nobody told me I had royalty under my roof."

Gage erupted in a rapidfire explosion of joy and eagerness, he's okay, he's there, can I talk to him pleasepleasepleaseplease, and Mercy could only laugh. Nathan's cheeks turned pink, and he tried to shrink, but Mercy sat forward. "I think he might want to talk to you, too." Se held the phone out to Nathan, who accepted it and put it to his ear. Gage had gone quiet. Nathan cleared his throat, and finally whispered:

"Hello?"

"IT IS YOU!" Gage exploded again, and Nathan had to hold the phone back from his ear until Gage finished shouting caught his breath. Mercy stood back, a hand over hir mouth, as Nathan bit his lower lip and blinked a few times. Finally, panting, he spoke again, slower and calmer, "I can't believe it! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"M-me neither." Nathan nervously tucked his legs under him, his gaze darting back to Mercy a few times, before he settled on staring at the floor. "I heard... on the news... you were hurt..."

"Uh-huh, but I'm doing way better now!" Mercy could hear how genuinely eager Gage was, and slunk away to freshen hir tea as he rambled on, still loud enough to hear across the room: "I had a bunch of surgeries and stayed in the hospital a while, and I couldn't go to regular school because I got tired so easily and hurt a lot, but now I'm better! Everyone took really good care of me! Jojo and Harley said you called after I got in the hospital, but I was super worried 'cause you haven't come over in a while. I guess I thought that maybe you weren't okay."

Nathan bit his lip a few times, and finally whispered, "It's over. They... they arrested him. My father. They saw him, so I didn't have to say anything... and now I don't have a family anymore."

Gage was very quiet. Very strange. Then, he tentatively suggested, "I dunno. If your family hurt you, then no family is better than that family."

"I don't miss him," Nathan mumbled, and Mercy saw him curling his knees into his chest. "Mother, sometimes, but she's not my mother anymore. Father said I never was. I... I'm glad he's not here."

"Me too. Are you living with Mercy and Mr. John now?"

Nathan mumbled an affirmation. "They're..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "They're really very kind, but I don't think I can stay."

Mercy pretended se wasn't listening, instead swirling hir tea in the cup and taking a sip as the dregs circled in little swirls. Gage sounded puzzled. "Why not?"

"I... I'm afraid... what if they...? I just don't know..." He glanced back at her, eyes wide like a rabbit staring down a gun with all of his fur on end and his legs already numb with exhaustion. "If I say something... or do something... and they don't like me... maybe I can't be their family either."

"Aww, no way! I know them! John's, like, a great, big, squishy, fluffy carpet, Mercy says se could walk all over him if se really wanted to. Seriously, I, like, triple-dog-dare you to ask for ice cream sundae for dinner, 'cause he'll totally do it! And Mercy, uhm, Dad says she's - Dad, what's that you call Mercy?" There was a pause, as Mercy tried to fill Father Steele's insult in her own mind with a smirk, and Gage finished, "Brassy? I think that's the word, yeah, se's brassy and jokey and stuff, but se's actually super nice, just like you said. Se helped me out before, and even if se sounds like se's teasing you, se's just trying to make you smile. Have you talked to them about how you feel?"

Nathan didn't answer, his gaze pinned to a spot on the wall and a little pink in his cheeks, and Gage groaned. "Maybe that was a dumb question. I'm sorry. But you really should talk to them! Not everyone speaks chess, like I do. Tell them things! It doesn't have to be big things! Even just, I like green beans! Or, my favorite color is purple! - Hey, what is your favorite color?"

Nathan's lips curved into a little smile. "It's... gold."

"What's your favorite food?"

"I don't have one. I guess... sweet things are best."

"Got it! I got a list, y'know, of what all my best friends like - aw, man, Dad says I gotta get off the phone! Darn. Promise me you'll come over sometime, and we can play chess and eat sandwiches, and you can check out the GameBox Jojo and Harl got me for Christmas, and we'll have an awesome time!"

"Okay! I'll... I'll ask." He looked back at Mercy, then turned around and trotted up to hir, phone in hand. "M... Miss..."

"Just Mercy's fine, sweetie." Se gingerly took hir phone from him. "Thanks for calling, Gage. We'll talk again soon, okay?" Gage, too, said his good-byes, as Nathan watched hir expectantly. Se hung up, then crouched a little. "So, I'm not gonna lie and say I wasn't listening." He hung his head, but se touched his cheek. "And it's okay. You came from a bad place. Maybe you don't know what a good place looks like." Se stepped back and gestured around the room, the full pantry, the cozy chairs in the den, the white light from the wide windows. "Take it from someone who came from the gutter: this place is good. We want you to enjoy it, and hon, it breaks our hearts that you don't." Se patted his cheek. He winced, but se chuckled and crossed hir arms. "Now, how 'bout you help me set up for dinner? Johnny should be home soon."

John came in to find Nathan at the table, placing forks and knives in place at their settings, but when John nervously cleared his throat, Nathan spun around.

"M-Mr. John. H-hi."

"Oh heavens, you spoke." John dropped his briefcase and ran his hand up into his hair, before shaking it off and smiling broadly at him. "Hello, then! Er, how was school?"

"It w-was okay." Nathan fidgeted with the table knife under his fingers, unable to maintain eye contact. "Ch-ch-chemistry... it's hard. Teacher says to memorize all these columns of elements by name and sy-symbol. But, English, we're reading Poe. I like that." He fidgeted a moment longer. "Mr. John? I'm... sorry..."

"Sorry for what, dear boy?" John held his hands out, his ever-affable tones only a little choked with emotion. "Chemistry is terribly difficult! There's a reason I'm a lawyer rather than a doctor. And when it comes to Poe, please don't apologize. I prefer the British literature of the... era..." Nathan was staring, bewildered, and John bit his lip. "I... I know you didn't mean..." He trailed off, his eyes welling up with tears. Mercy crossed her arms, ready to intercede, but Nathan hung his head.

"Should've... sooner... I just... it's... what if..."

"Nathan, dear boy, I won't. I've wanted children since my youth, why would I ever dare hurt you?"

Nathan cringed, and squeezed the words out. "Father did. Not... not his real son. Always said that."

John's brow furrowed, and Mercy said the words he couldn't: "That creature you refer to as 'Father' is nothing but a waste of space and perfectly good carbon. I'm not going to pretend he's anything more than that, and neither is Johnny. You don't have to be shackled to him anymore." Se smirked. "After all, you're right chess royalty, from what I hear, and kings don't wear chains."

John raised an eyebrow and lifted his head. "Chess royalty, my dear? Whatever do you mean?"

Mercy chuckled and joined Nathan in front of the table. "According to a little friend of mine, Nathan here is known in some parts as the Chess prince." Nathan's face roared bright red with embarrassment, but John cackled.

"Is that so? Really? Graces, my boy, don't you know I was the tri-state collegiate Chess Champion when I was attending college! You'll have to show me your play!" He clapped his hands together, grinning. "How very exciting – that is, if you wish to play with me."

Nathan, still wide-eyed, but now with wonder showing in the little 'o' of his mouth, only whispered, "You're... better than me... it's been forever... someone who's better than me..." He shook his head hard, as if to shake himself back to reality, as if this were all too good to be true and he had to forget it, but blurted out a sharp, "Please."

John leaned a little closer. "Yes?"

"If... If it's not... too much trouble... I wanna see my friend."

"Oh!" John stood stark upright and looked over to Mercy. "Have we met this friend?"

"We have." Mercy grinned, catlike in hir victory. "I even know where he lives. In fact, why don't I call Old Man Steele and see if the three of us can't all go and visit?"

"Why, that's a splendid idea!" John, beaming, whirled back around to Nathan. "That'll be delightful. Would it be too troublesome to ask that we save our chess game until after the both of us have eaten?"

Nathan, speechless, wide-eyed, face to the floor, nodded, and John patted his shoulder. "Good lad. Now, why don't you tell me about your friend? This is the first I'm hearing of a friend." He circled around him to his usual place, avoiding the fact that this was the first he was hearing out of Nathan at all, and Nathan's legs buckled, dropping him into his chair just as the oven went off.

"His... his name's Gage..."

* * *

"NATHAN!" Gage's shriek sent pigeons flying, and a whirlwind of feathers erupted as Gage darted from the front door and tackled Nathan where he stood between Mercy and John. Nathan stumbled back, and John kept both boys from falling.

"Now, now, young man, weren't you recently injured?" John put his hands on his knees as Gage dragged Nathan a few steps down the walk, hugging and squeezing him tight.

"Yeah, but..." His voice hit a pitch and warbled: "It's you! I was so worried, and now you're back!" Without even stopping for a second to let Nathan, wheezing from having the air knocked out of him, recover, he took Nathan by the wrist and dragged him. "C'mon, c'mon, I got the chess board all set up and everything, and if you like stuff other than chess, Jojo and Harl and Mr. Dan got me a GameBox 4000 for Christmas, and I'm just dyin' to play someone else in Super Kart Racer 'cause all I do all day is grind Jojo's face into the dirt..." Mercy and John followed at a distance as Gage babbled happily on. Both of them could see Nathan's reluctant smile. Father Steele, donning his usual cassock and finishing a cigarette, waited by the door as Gage hauled Nathan past and into the vestibule. He kicked himself off the wall as they came close, perusing both of them with his trademark sneer. Mercy merely smirked.

"Afternoon, Father."

"Mercy. Mr. Shin." Steele extended a hand, which John happily shook. "I understand you're Nathan's foster family."

"Oh, yes."

Steele patted John's hand, and muttered, "Good." Then, he released him and crossed his arms. "It's my understanding you two wanted to volunteer here for the day?"

"We sure do." Mercy set hir hand on hir hip. "Tell me how we can help the poor, unwashed, unfortunate souls of the city."

Steele sniffed and turned his nose up. "I think Mr. Shin's done his part. After all, he's taken you in."

"My, my." Mercy giggled, cocking hir hip and taking a step closer down the walk. "I thought you holy fellas spoke in tongues, but I never heard of speaking in silver tongues."

"Mercy, n-now." John patted hir hand, and grinned nervously at Steele. "A-a-and I'll ask you not to deride my partner for-"

"Johnny, babe, this is just how me and him talk." Mercy kissed his cheek, and marched up the steps. "Okay, Father, you want me in the kitchen, or what?"

Mercy found hirself at work with Harley in the kitchen, cutting potatoes and filling plates, as John helped Steele organize some of his files and mail. Nathan holed up in Gage's loft with Jo, the chessboard, and video games. "I admit," John said after uncovering a newspaper from three years ago and waiting for Steele to blush (only to be sorely disappointed), "I'd thought all three of us would be put to work."

"I thought it more important that Gage not feel compelled to help. He's only three months out from major surgery." Steele dusted the clean space John had made with his palm, then set a fresh stack of files into it to rifle through them. He didn't lift his eyes as he thought. "And just as important that your charge feel comfortable. Does he talk now?"

John smiled wearily. "Sometimes. He'll talk a little, then button his lips and look like a rabbit sitting in front of a honking car until he's coaxed to speak again."

Steele sighed, brow knit. "It's more than it was before."

"Yes, but we have your boy to thank for that." There was a groan from upstairs, drowned out by excited whooping, as, based on the chatter, Jo took third place again after being flattened by Gage and Nathan. Steele grabbed a broom from his corner and jabbed it at the ceiling, then tossed it aside and whirled back to John.

"But you were patient enough to wait for them to chance into one another, instead of hurrying to ship him off again. You laid down and accepted being treated as if you were the one who'd hurt him." Steele sniffed, surveying John. "For a district attorney, you really are..."

"Small?" John's chin dropped as he looked over the desk again, but he smiled to himself. "A doormat, maybe?"

"Incredibly patient with those that don't deserve it." Steele shook his head. "I could never imagine letting that pass."

"It's a simply matter of being happy with what one has. I enjoy my work, I've a lovely home, a delightful partner, and, if things go on as they have been going, a gentle, intelligent son. It's all I could ever ask for, why should I complain?"

Steele grunted and went back to sorting his papers. "I suppose if you set your sights low, it's hard to be disappointed."

"I don't see it that way." John let his hands fall to his side, then glanced up to the loft. He couldn't see it, but he could imagine Nathan, seated on a cushion in front of Gage's little television, smiling as the colors washed through him and he sunk into simple pleasure. He glanced cautiously back at Steele. "In chess, one of the first techniques one learns is the castle. It is performed when the rook is moved to corner the king or queen behind the pawns in each respective corner. It's a simple technique meant to protect the more valuable pieces, but it is my opening gambit. With such a weak move, I also put forth my best assets." He grinned to himself at the thought of his favored rook sweeping across the field. "The way I see it, the king has his castle and his strength. I've never lost a game. Not even to the Chess Prince."

"You risk nothing and lose nothing."

"Outwardly, it appears that way. But even for a meek man like myself, any gambit is a gamble." He thought again of Nathan's smile, his suppressed elation as he had to turn his King over, and as John set the board up once again. John even had to stifle a chuckle at the tremulous joy in Nathan's words as he asked:

_"Can we play again tomorrow, too?"_

As if it were so strange for a child to want to play. As if he'd rather do nothing else. John laughed to himself at the change in Nathan at just that simple opening he'd achieved. "I am merely happy I haven't yet lost."

Mercy's contentment, lounging in hir chaise. His own joy at having a child looking at him with something akin to adoration. Steele seemed to understand, a wry, knowing smile crossing his dour features.

"You're a lucky man."

"No." John faced him, beaming, as if standing on his balcony and surveying his kingdom. "Just happy."


End file.
